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<pre>

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Peggy Owen Patriot, by Lucy Foster Madison

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org


Title: Peggy Owen Patriot
       A Story for Girls

Author: Lucy Foster Madison

Illustrator: H. J. Peck

Release Date: July 15, 2011 [EBook #36740]

Language: English

Character set encoding: UTF-8

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PEGGY OWEN PATRIOT ***




Produced by Roger Frank, Juliet Sutherland and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net






</pre>

<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<a name='i001' id='i001'></a>
<img src='images/cover.jpg' alt='' title=''/><br />
</div>
<p>
&#160;<br />
&#160;<br />
&#160;<br />
</p>
<div><a name='figfpc' id='figfpc'></a></div>
<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<a name='i002' id='i002'></a>
<img src="images/illus002.jpg" alt="“CAN I BE OF ANY ASSISTANCE?”" title=""/><br />
<span class='caption'>“CAN I BE OF ANY ASSISTANCE?”</span>
</div>
<p>
&#160;<br />
&#160;<br />
&#160;<br />
</p>
<div class='center'>
<p style='font-size:1.4em;'>Peggy Owen Patriot</p>
<p>&#160;</p>
<p>A Story for Girls</p>
<p>&#160;</p>
<p style='font-size:smaller;'>BY</p>
<p>&#160;</p>
<p style='font-size:larger;'>Lucy Foster Madison</p>
<p>&#160;</p>
<p>Author of</p>
<p>&#160;</p>
<p style='font-size:smaller;'>“Peggy Owen”</p>
<p style='font-size:smaller;'>“Peggy Owen at Yorktown”</p>
<p style='font-size:smaller;'>“Peggy Owen and Liberty”</p>
<p>&#160;</p>
<p>Illustrated by H.J. Peck</p>
<p>&#160;</p>
<p>The Penn Publishing Company</p>
<p style='font-size:smaller;'>Philadelphia MCMXVII</p>
</div>
<p>
&#160;<br />
&#160;<br />
&#160;<br />
</p>
<div class='center'>
<p>COPYRIGHT</p>
<p>1910 BY</p>
<p>THE PENN</p>
<p>PUBLISHING</p>
<p>COMPANY</p>
</div>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“I&#160;pray&#160;you,&#160;let&#160;us&#160;satisfy&#160;our&#160;eyes</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>With&#160;the&#160;memorials&#160;and&#160;things&#160;of&#160;fame</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>That&#160;do&#160;renown&#160;this&#160;city.”</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
&#160;<br />
&#160;<br />
&#160;<br />
</p>
<div class='center'>
<p style='font-size:larger;'>Introduction</p>
</div>
<p>
In “Peggy Owen,” the preceding book of
the series, the heroine, a little Quaker maid,
lives across from the State House in Philadelphia.
By reason of this she becomes much
interested in the movements of the Continental
Congress, and when her father, in spite
of his religion, takes up arms for the Whigs
she too becomes an ardent patriot. While
David Owen is with the army before Boston,
Peggy and her mother find a kinsman of
his—William Owen, a colonel in the English
army—a prisoner in the city’s new jail.
</p>
<p>
They succeed in having him released on
parole, and take him into their home, where
he requites their kindness by selfishness and
arrogance, even killing Peggy’s pet dog, Pilot.
He is exchanged at length, but before leaving
he brings one James Molesworth to the house,
claiming that he does not like to leave them
unprotected. This man Peggy discovers to be
a spy.
</p>
<p>
Upon the advance of the British toward
Philadelphia Peggy and her mother go to
their farm on the banks of the Wissahickon.
Here they are almost denuded of supplies by
foragers, one party of which is headed by
their own kinsman, Colonel Owen. American
troopers arrive, and a sharp skirmish
takes place, in which Colonel Owen is
wounded. While caring for him word is
received that David Owen is a prisoner in
Philadelphia, and ill of a fever. General
Howe proposes to have him exchanged for
one Thomas Shale, and Peggy rides to Valley
Forge to secure the consent of General Washington.
Owing to the fact that the man is a
spy and a deserter the exchange cannot take
place, and, in a blaze of anger at finding her
cousin so comfortable while her own father
lies ill, Peggy denounces him, and forces him
to accede to the proposal that he be exchanged
for her father. The book closes with the evacuation
of Philadelphia by the British.
</p>
<p>
The present volume shows the Owens at
Washington’s camp in northern New Jersey.
Peggy’s further adventures are continued in
“Peggy Owen at Yorktown” and “Peggy Owen
and Liberty.”
</p>
<p>
&#160;<br />
&#160;<br />
&#160;<br />
</p>
<div class='center'>
<p style='font-size:larger;'>CONTENTS</p>
</div>
<table class='c' summary='table of contents'>
<tr><td style='font-size:smaller'>CHAPTER</td><td></td><td style='font-size:smaller'>PAGE</td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>I.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>On the Road to Philadelphia</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chI'>11</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>II.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Home-Coming</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chII'>24</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>III.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>An Old Time Advertisement</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chIII'>37</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>IV.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Girl’s Sacrifice</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chIV'>48</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>V.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Up in the Attic</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chV'>61</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>VI.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Tea at Headquarters</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chVI'>69</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>VII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Summer Soldier</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chVII'>87</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>VIII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Peggy’s Resolve</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chVIII'>98</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>IX.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Tale of a Hero</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chIX'>107</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>X.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Peggy Teaches a Lesson</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chX'>119</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XI.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Peggy Pleads for Drayton</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXI'>129</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Another Chance</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXII'>141</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XIII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Good News</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXIII'>151</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XIV.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Camp at Middlebrook</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXIV'>159</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XV.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Harriet</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXV'>176</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XVI.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Two Warnings</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXVI'>188</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XVII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Letter and a Surprise</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXVII'>205</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XVIII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Stolen Thunder</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXVIII'>222</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XIX.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Promise and an Accusation</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXIX'>232</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XX.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Regretted Promise</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXX'>247</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXI.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Reckoning</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXI'>258</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A High-Handed Proceeding</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXII'>269</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXIII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>In the Lines of the Enemy</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXIII'>281</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXIV.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Reason Why</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXIV'>291</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXV.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Alert That Failed</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXV'>303</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXVI.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Battle With the Elements</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXVI'>319</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXVII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Haven After the Storm</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXVII'>335</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXVIII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Taste of Partisan Warfare</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXVIII'>346</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXIX.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Peggy Finds an Old Friend</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXIX'>361</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXX.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>An Interrupted Journey</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXX'>376</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXXI.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>How the News was Received at Camp</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXXI'>387</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXXII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>On the Altar of His Country</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXXII'>401</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXXIII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Great Surprise</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXXIII'>419</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXXIV.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Home</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXXIV'>429</a></td></tr>
</table>
<p>
&#160;<br />
&#160;<br />
&#160;<br />
</p>
<div class='center'>
<p style='font-size:larger;'>ILLUSTRATIONS</p>
</div>
<table class='c' summary='loi'>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:1em;'>“Can I be of Any Assistance?”</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#figfpc'>Frontispiece</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:1em;'>“Friend—I Should Say—General Arnold”</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#fig083'>80</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:1em;'>Slowly He Turned Toward the Reader</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#fig129'>124</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:1em;'>“My Wife and Daughter, Your Excellency”</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#fig175'>169</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:1em;'>“Why Should Thee Play the Spy?”</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#fig269'>261</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:1em;'>The Dingey was Caught by a Current</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#fig345'>334</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:1em;'>“You Are Welcome,” said General Gates</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#fig409'>396</a></td></tr>
</table>
<h1><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11'></a>11</span>Peggy Owen, Patriot</h1>
<h2><a name='chI' id='chI'></a>CHAPTER I—ON THE ROAD TO PHILADELPHIA</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“And&#160;rising&#160;Chestnut&#160;Hill&#160;around&#160;surveyed</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Wide&#160;woods&#160;below&#160;in&#160;vast&#160;extent&#160;displayed.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—“The&#160;Forester,”&#160;<i>Alexander&#160;Wilson</i>.</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
“Oh, gracious!”
</p>
<p>
The exclamation burst from the lips of a
slender girl mounted upon a small black
mare, and she drew rein abruptly.
</p>
<p>
“What is it, Peggy?” asked a sweet-faced
matron, leaning from the side of a “one horse
chair” drawn up under the shade of a tree by
the roadside. “What hath happened? Thee
seems dismayed.”
</p>
<p>
“I am, mother,” answered the girl, springing
lightly from the back of the horse. “My
saddle girth hath broken, and both Robert
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12'></a>12</span>
and Tom are back with the wagons. There
is a breakdown. What shall I do? This will
cause another delay, I fear.”
</p>
<p>
“Thee can do nothing, Peggy, until Robert
returns. Try to content thyself until then.”
</p>
<p>
“I could repair it myself, I believe, if I
only had a string,” said the maiden. “I
wonder if there isn’t one in the chaise. Let’s
look, mother.”
</p>
<p>
Throwing the bridle over her arm the girl
joined her mother, and the two began a hasty
search of the vehicle.
</p>
<p>
It was a golden day in September, 1778,
and the afternoon sun was flooding with light
the calm and radiant landscape afforded by
the wooded slopes of Chestnut Hill, penetrating
even the dense branches that overarched
the highroad leading to Germantown.
</p>
<p>
It was one of those soft, balmy days when
the fathomless daylight seemed to stand and
dream. A cool elixir was in the air. The
distant range of hills beyond the river Schuylkill
was bound with a faint haze, a frail transparency
whose lucid purple barely veiled the
valleys. From the motionless trees the long
clean shadows swept over tangles of
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13'></a>13</span>
underbrush brightened by the purple coronets of
asters, feathery plumes of goldenrod, and the
burning glory of the scarlet sumac. Ranks
of silken thistles blown to seed disputed possession
of the roadside with lowly poke-bushes
laden with Tyrian fruit.
</p>
<p>
The view from the crest of the hill where
the chaise had stopped was beautiful. The
great forest land spread out beneath seemed
boundless in extent, for the farms scattered
among the woodland were scarcely visible
from the height, but the maiden and her
mother were so intent upon the mishap of the
broken strap as to be for the nonce insensible
to the delights of the scenery. So absorbed
were they that they started violently when a
voice exclaimed:
</p>
<p>
“Your servant, ladies! Can I be of any
assistance?”
</p>
<p>
“Why,” gasped Peggy, turning about in
amazement as a lad of about eighteen, whose
appearance was far from reassuring, stepped
from the woods into the road. “Who art
thou, and what does thee want?”
</p>
<p>
“I want to help you mend your saddle,” said
the youth coolly, doffing a tattered beaver
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14'></a>14</span>
with some grace. “Didst not say that the
girth had broke?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, but,” began the girl, when her mother
spoke:
</p>
<p>
“Art sure that thou canst aid us, my lad?”
she asked mildly. “Thou wilt not mind if I
say that thee looks in need of aid thyself.”
</p>
<p>
“As to that, madam, it can be discussed
later,” he rejoined. “For the present, permit
me to say that here is a piece of rawhide,
and here a jack-knife. What doth hinder the
repairing of the saddle but your permission?”
</p>
<p>
“And that thou hast,” returned the lady.
“We shall be indeed grateful to thee for thy
aid.”
</p>
<p>
At once the youth stepped to the side of the
mare, and inspected the broken band critically.
Then, removing the saddle to the ground, he
set to work upon it with a dexterity that
showed him to be no novice. “What is the
name of the pony?” he asked, addressing the
maiden directly.
</p>
<p>
“Star,” answered she regarding him with
curious eyes.
</p>
<p>
He was in truth a spectacle to excite both
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15'></a>15</span>
curiosity and pity. He was haggard and unkempt,
and his garments hung about him in
tatters. His form was thin to emaciation,
and, while he boasted the remains of a beaver,
his feet were without covering of any sort.
</p>
<p>
“’Tis a pretty beast,” he remarked, seeming
not at all concerned as to his rags. “One
of the likeliest bits of horse-flesh I’ve seen in
many a day. Are you fond of her?”
</p>
<p>
“I am indeed,” answered the girl, patting
the mare gently. “My father gave her to me,
and I would not lose her for anything. He
is now with the army at White Plains, New
York.”
</p>
<p>
“Are you not Quakers?” he queried,
glancing up in surprise.
</p>
<p>
“We are of the Society of Friends, which
the world’s people call Quakers,” interposed
the matron from the chaise.
</p>
<p>
“And they, methought, were neutral,” he
observed with a smile.
</p>
<p>
“Not all, friend. There be some who are
called Free Quakers, because they choose to
range themselves upon the side of their
country. Methinks thou shouldst have heard
of them.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16'></a>16</span>
</p>
<p>
“I have,” he rejoined, “but as Fighting or
Hickory Quakers.”
</p>
<p>
“It doesn’t matter what we are called so
long as we are of service to the country,” exclaimed
Peggy with some warmth. “Is thee
not of the army too? Thou art an American.”
</p>
<p>
The lad hesitated, and then said quickly:
“Not now. I have been.” And then, abruptly—“Are
you ladies alone?”
</p>
<p>
“No,” replied the girl, casting an anxious
glance down the roadway. The highways of
Pennsylvania, once so peaceful and serene,
were by this period of the war so infected
with outlaws and ruffians as to be scarcely
safe for travelers. “We have an escort who
are coming up with the wagons. One broke,
and it took all hands to repair it. They
should be here at any time now.”
</p>
<p>
“There!” spoke the youth, rising. “I
think, mistress, that you will find your saddle
in prime order for the rest of your journey.”
</p>
<p>
“Thank thee,” said Peggy gratefully. “It
is well done. And now what shall we do for
thee? How can we serve thee for thy kindness?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17'></a>17</span>
</p>
<p>
“Are you bound for Philadelphia, or do
you stop in Germantown?” he asked.
</p>
<p>
“Philadelphia, my lad,” spoke the mother.
</p>
<p>
“Would thee——” She hesitated a moment
and then drew forth some bills. “Would thee
accept some of these? ’Tis all I have to offer
in the shape of money. Hard coin is seldom
met with these days.”
</p>
<p>
“Nay,” said the boy with a gesture of
scorn. “Keep your bills, madam. I have
had my fill of Continental money. ’Twould
take all that you have to purchase a meal
that would be filling, and I doubt whether
the farmers hereabouts would take them.”
</p>
<p>
“There is a law now compelling every one
to take them,” cried Peggy. “They will
have to take the Continental money whether
they wish to or not. And they should.
Every good patriot should stand by the country’s
currency.”
</p>
<p>
“You are all for the patriots, I see,” he remarked.
“When one has suffered in the
cause, and received naught from an ungrateful
country one doesn’t feel so warmly toward
them.”
</p>
<p>
“But, my lad,” broke in the lady, “thee
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18'></a>18</span>
will pardon me, I know, if I say again that
thee looks in need of assistance. If we cannot
aid thee here perchance in the city we
could be of service. I am Lowry Owen, David
Owen’s wife. Thou mayst have heard of
him?”
</p>
<p>
“Perchance then, madam, you would not
mind if I accompanied you to the city?”
queried the lad. “Wilt let me ride with
you?”
</p>
<p>
“With pleasure,” answered Mrs. Owen.
“Thou shalt sit in the chaise with me while
Tom may go in the wagons. This chair is
not so comfortable as a coach, because it hath
no springs or leather bands, but thou wilt not
find it unbearable.”
</p>
<p>
“’Twill be better than walking,” he returned
with easy assurance. His assurance
deserted him suddenly, and he sank upon the
ground abruptly. “I am faint,” he murmured.
</p>
<p>
“The poor lad is ill,” cried Peggy hastening
to his side. “Oh, mother! what does
thee think is the matter?”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis hunger, I fear,” replied Mrs. Owen
hastily descending from the chair. “Peggy,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19'></a>19</span>
fetch me the portmanteau from under the
seat. Why did I not ask as to thy needs?”
she added with grave self-reproach as the
youth reached eagerly for the food. “There!
Be not too ravenous, my lad. Thou shalt
have thy fill.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, but——” uttered the boy, clutching
the provisions. He said no more, but ate with
frantic haste, as though he feared the viands
would be taken from him. Mrs. Owen and
Peggy regarded him with pitying eyes. Presently
he looked at them with something of
his former jauntiness. “’Tis the first real
food that I have eaten for three days,” he told
them. “I have been living on wild grapes,
and corn whenever I could find a field. I
thank you, madam; and you also, mistress.”
</p>
<p>
“And hast thou no home, or place to go
that thou art reduced to such a pass?” asked
the lady.
</p>
<p>
“There is no place near. Perhaps when I
reach Philadelphia I shall find a way to get to
mine own home, and then——”
</p>
<p>
“Ah! there comes Robert with the wagons,”
exclaimed Peggy, as four wagons escorted by
as many troopers appeared from behind a bend
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20'></a>20</span>
in the highway. “I am so glad, for now we
can start again. He will know what to do
for thee, thou poor lad!”
</p>
<p>
“Is he—is he a soldier?” asked the boy
gazing at the approaching wagon train with
evident alarm.
</p>
<p>
“Why, yes; of course,” answered Peggy.
“He is aide for the time being to General
Arnold, who hath charge of Philadelphia.
Why——”
</p>
<p>
“I thank you again,” cried the lad, springing
to his feet with such a sudden accession of
strength that the girl and her mother were
astonished. “I thank you, and bid you
good-morrow.” Darting across the road, he
plunged into the forest, and was soon lost to
sight, leaving Peggy and Mrs. Owen staring
blankly after him.
</p>
<p>
“Heigh ho!” gasped Peggy when she had
presently recovered herself. “I wonder why
he did that? There is naught about Robert
to fear.”
</p>
<p>
“Perhaps Robert can explain,” said her
mother with a peculiar smile. “I rather
think ’twas because he feared to meet a soldier.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21'></a>21</span>
</p>
<p>
“But why?” persisted the girl. “I see not
why he should fear—mother,” she broke off
suddenly as a thought came to her, “was the
lad a deserter?”
</p>
<p>
“I fear so, Peggy. There are many such
roaming the country, I hear.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Robert,” cried the maiden as a youth
of soldierly bearing rode up to them. “We
have had such an adventure! My saddle
girth broke, and a youth came out of the
woods and mended it. Then he was faint for
the want of food, and mother fed him. He
was to go with us to the city, but when he
heard that thee was a soldier, he thanked us
and disappeared into the forest. Mother
thinks him a deserter.”
</p>
<p>
“I make no doubt of it,” spoke the young
man gravely. “The woods are full of such
fellows. Why! Are you alone? Where is
Tom? I sent him to stay with you, as we
were delayed by a breakage. You should not
have been here alone.”
</p>
<p>
“Tom?” Peggy looked her dismay. “Why,
we have not seen him since he went with
thee. Was he not at the wagons? Oh! I
hope that naught hath befallen him.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22'></a>22</span>
</p>
<p>
“He must be about somewhere,” said the
youth comfortingly. Nevertheless he dismounted
and began to look among the bushes
that overhung the roadside. “Why, you
black rascal,” he shouted as he came upon a
negro asleep behind some brush. “Get up!
I thought I sent you to guard your mistresses?”
</p>
<p>
“Dere wuzn’t nuffin’ ter guard ’em frum,”
yawned Tom, who counted himself a privileged
character. “I seed dey wuz all right,
so I ‘prooves de shinin’ hour by gittin’ a li’l
res’. Yo’ ain’t a gwine ter ‘ject ter dat, is yer,
Marster Dale?”
</p>
<p>
“And your mistress might have been
robbed while you were doing so,” began
Robert Dale sternly. “I’ve a mind——”
</p>
<p>
“Don’t scold him, Robert,” pleaded Peggy.
“The ride hath been a long one from the
farm. I wonder not that he is tired. Why,”
closing her bright eyes in a vain attempt to
look drowsy, “I could almost go to sleep myself.”
</p>
<p>
“You spoil that darkey,” remonstrated the
youth as Tom, knowing that his case was won,
climbed to his place in the chaise. “Let me
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23'></a>23</span>
look at that saddle, Peggy. If it is all right
we must start at once, else ’twill be night ere
we reach the city. Ah! ’tis well done,” he
added with approval, after an inspection of the
band. “Our deserter, if such he be, understands
such things. Come, Peggy!”
</p>
<p>
He adjusted the saddle, assisted the maiden
to it, then mounting his own horse gave the
command, and the journey was resumed.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24'></a>24</span><a name='chII' id='chII'></a>CHAPTER II—THE HOME-COMING</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“Such&#160;is&#160;the&#160;patriot’s&#160;boast,&#160;where’er&#160;we&#160;roam,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>His&#160;first,&#160;best&#160;country,&#160;ever&#160;is&#160;at&#160;home.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>Goldsmith.</i></p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
The bells of Christ Church were pealing out
the joyous chime
</p>
<div class='center'>
<p>“Market-day to-morrow!”</p>
</div>
<p>
as the girl and Robert Dale, followed immediately
by the chaise and more remotely by the
wagons, cantered into Front Street. It was
Tuesday evening, or in Quaker parlance,
Third Day, and the streets were full of stir
and bustle incident to the preparation for
next day’s market.
</p>
<p>
“Oh!” cried Peggy drawing a deep breath.
“How good it is to be home once more! How
musical sounds the rattling of even the carriages!”
</p>
<p>
“Very harsh music, methinks,” smiled the
youth.
</p>
<p>
“But preferable to the croaking frogs and
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25'></a>25</span>
screeching owls of farm life,” said the girl
quickly. “If thee had been away for a year
I make no doubt but that thee would be as
glad to return to this dear city as I am.”
</p>
<p>
“I make no doubt of it too,” he agreed.
</p>
<p>
“Just think,” went on Peggy. “I have
not seen either Sally or Betty since the Fourth
of July. Had it not been for thee I would
know naught of what hath occurred since
then. Thou hast been very kind to us,
Robert.”
</p>
<p>
“It hath been a pleasure,” returned he
gravely. “I think you cannot know what a
relief it is to get away from the incessant
round of gaiety with which the city seems
beset. I weary of it, and long to be in the
field.”
</p>
<p>
“I hope that thee will not go just as we
have returned to town,” remarked the maiden.
“Mother and I will welcome the chance to
return some of thy favors.”
</p>
<p>
“Don’t, Peggy,” exclaimed the lad coloring.
“I like not for you to speak of requiting
favors as though you and your mother owed
aught to me. It hath been a pleasure, as I
have said.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26'></a>26</span>
</p>
<p>
“Thee is too modest, Robert. None the
less we owe thee much, even though thee does
try to deny it. How, sir, could we have come
to the city without thy escort? With father
away thee knows that ’twould have been impossible
for mother and me to have managed
the wagons. And——But oh, Robert!
Aren’t the shops opened yet? So many
seemed to be closed.”
</p>
<p>
“Not all are open, Peggy. Everything is
fast becoming as ’twas before the coming of
the British, but it will take some time to restore
matters to a normal condition. ’Tis but
September, and they only left in June.”
</p>
<p>
“I know,” observed she thoughtfully, “that
’twill be indeed long before we are as we were
before their coming. An enemy makes sad
havoc, does it not?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” he agreed. And then, as the
memory of all that the British occupation
had brought came to them, they fell into a
silence.
</p>
<p>
In common with many Whig families
Lowry Owen and her daughter had deferred
their permanent return to the city until it
had regained some semblance of its former
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27'></a>27</span>
order. Under the command of Major-General
Arnold, Philadelphia, bruised, and sore, and
shaken after the occupation for nine long
months by the British, was striving to become
once more the city of brotherly love, but the
throes of reconstruction had not yet settled
into the calm of its former serenity. Something
of this was discernible even to the
lenient eyes of the overjoyed maiden, and
cast a momentary shadow over her happiness
at being once more within the confines of her
native city. But, as they entered Chestnut
Street, the tinge of sadness vanished, and her
eyes sparkled.
</p>
<p>
“I cannot wait for thee, Robert,” she called,
giving her mare a gentle pat. “Perhaps the
girls may be waiting.”
</p>
<p>
She smiled a farewell, and set off at speed,
drawing rein presently before a large double
brick house at the western extremity of the
town, just across from the State House.
</p>
<p>
Before she could dismount the door of the
dwelling was thrown wide, and two girls came
running down the steps, and flung themselves
upon her.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Peggy! Peggy!” they cried simultaneously. “We
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28'></a>28</span>
were waiting for thee.
Robert told us that we might look for thee to-day.
What kept thee so long? And where
is thy mother? And Robert? Is not he
with thee?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, girls!” exclaimed Peggy, returning
their embraces rapturously. “How good it
is to see you. Sally, thee is prettier than
ever! And how Betty hath grown!”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Peggy, I have a thousand things to
tell thee,” cried Sally Evans. “I will give
thee so droll an account of my adventures
that thee will smile.”
</p>
<p>
“I am prepared to hear amazing things,”
answered Peggy. “And I too have adventures
to tell.”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis time for thee to come back, Peggy
Owen,” exclaimed Betty Williams. “For
what with the routs and the tea drinkings the
city is monstrously gay. The Tories had it
all their way while the British were here, but
now ’tis the Whigs’ turn.”
</p>
<p>
“I am not so sure about that, Betty,” demurred
Sally. “If there is any difference
made ’tis in favor of the Tories.”
</p>
<p>
“I have heard Robert say they were favored,”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29'></a>29</span>
observed Peggy. “It seems strange. What
causes such conduct?”
</p>
<p>
“Has thee not heard?” laughed Sally, a
mischievous sparkle in her blue eyes. “Know
then, Mistress Peggy Owen, that it originates
at headquarters. Cupid hath given our general
a more mortal wound than all the hosts
of Britons could. In other words, report hath
it that General Arnold is to marry our Miss
Peggy Shippen. ’Tis union of Whig and
Tory, and the Tories are in high favor in consequence.”
</p>
<p>
“Perhaps,” said Peggy, “that the general
wishes not to carry the animosities of the field
into the drawing-room. I have heard that
gallant soldiers never make war on our
sex.”
</p>
<p>
“Well, he certainly is gallant,” conceded
Sally. “There are many tales afloat concerning
his prowess. I make no doubt but that
thee has hit the heart of the matter. Ah!
here is Robert,” as the youth rode up. “Peggy
did not need thy assistance to dismount, sir,”
she cried. “Betty and I lifted her from Star
ourselves.”
</p>
<p>
“I expected it,” laughed Robert Dale.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30'></a>30</span>
“Let me take Star, Peggy. I will care for her
until Tom comes.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, but,” began Peggy in expostulation,
when Sally interrupted her.
</p>
<p>
“Let him take her, Peggy. Is he not an
aide? ’Tis his duty.”
</p>
<p>
“Sally, thee is saucy,” laughed Peggy resigning
the mare into the lad’s keeping.
“Come, girls!” leading the way into the
dwelling. “Now tell me everything.”
</p>
<p>
“First,” began Betty, “thee is to go with
us to see a wonderful aloe tree on Fifth Day
morn, but more of that anon. Where is thy
mother?”
</p>
<p>
“She is coming in the chaise with Tom,
and should be here now. Girls, you should
have seen Robert caring for the wagons. He
looked like a woodsman. You would have
thought that he was about to start for the
frontier.”
</p>
<p>
“She belies me,” said Dale entering at
this moment. “I will leave it to Mistress
Owen if I looked like one, though I would I
had the marksmanship of a backwoodsman.
Our companies of sharpshooters are almost the
mainstay of the army.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31'></a>31</span>
</p>
<p>
“The army?” spoke Mrs. Owen catching
the last word as she came into the room unperceived.
“Is there news, Robert? And
what about the chances for peace?”
</p>
<p>
“The conditions have not changed, Mistress
Owen, since last we spoke of them,” returned
the lad. “And peace seems as far off as ever.
Sir Henry Clinton still holds New York City,
while General Washington watches him from
the highlands of the Hudson. Along the
frontier the savage warfare which began with
the massacre at Wyoming continues, and
these, aside from skirmishes, constitute all of
action there hath been since Monmouth. It
seems now to be a question of endurance on
the part of the patriots, and of artifice and
trickery on the British side.”
</p>
<p>
“But with the French to help us,” spoke
the lady returning the greetings of her daughter’s
friends warmly. “The alliance which
Dr. Franklin hath at last succeeded in effecting.
Surely with such aid the war must soon
be brought to a close.”
</p>
<p>
“The allies have not been as effective so far
as ’twas hoped they would prove,” announced
he. “Many of the people are seriously disaffected toward
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32'></a>32</span>
the French, declaring that ’tis
only a question of English or French supremacy.
The soldiers, I grieve to say, incline
toward this view, and the loyalists are doing
all they can to further such belief.”
</p>
<p>
“Well, here is one who is not disaffected toward
the French,” broke in Sally. “Oh,
Peggy, thee should have been here to attend
the entertainment which the French minister
gave in honor of the king’s birthday. ’Twas
highly spoke of, and everybody attended.
And he was so considerate of the Quakers.”
</p>
<p>
“In what way, Sally?” asked Mrs. Owen.
</p>
<p>
“Why, he hung a veil between the ballroom
and the chamber in which they sat that
they might view such worldly pleasures with
discretion,” laughed Sally.
</p>
<p>
“But Sally would not endure it,” spoke
Betty. “When General Arnold came in she
told him that she did not wish to take the
veil, as she had not yet turned papist, and
desired to partake of her pleasures more
openly.”
</p>
<p>
“Sally, thee didn’t,” gasped Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“But I did,” declared Sally with a toss of
her head. “He laughed, and immediately
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33'></a>33</span>
took me without. And the dressing, Peggy!
There never was so much as there is now.
Thee will thank thy stars that thee has been
made to embroider and learn fine sewing, for
thee will need it.”
</p>
<p>
“But is there naught but tea drinking, and
dancing and dressing?” asked Peggy perplexed.
“We used to do so much for the
army. Is nothing done now?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, yes;” Sally blushed a little and then
brightened up. “I have set a stocking on
the needles,” she said. “True, ’twas some
time since, but I am going to finish it. Mrs.
Bache, she that was Sally Franklin, talks of a
society for making shirts and gathering supplies
for the soldiers. I fancy the most of us
will belong, and then there will be something
beside enjoyment. Does that suit thee, Miss
Peggy?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” returned Peggy thoughtfully.
“Not that I object to the enjoyment,
Sally, but I think we ought to do some
of both.”
</p>
<p>
“Well, here comes the beginning of the enjoyment,”
exclaimed Betty from the window.
“Here is a soldier from headquarters, and I
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34'></a>34</span>
know that he bears an invitation from the
general for tea. We had ours this morning.”
</p>
<p>
It was as Betty said, and an orderly was
announced almost immediately.
</p>
<p>
“I cry you pardon, madam,” he said advancing
toward Mrs. Owen, “for intruding so
soon upon you. But a certain aide hath importuned
our general so urgently that you
should be waited upon directly upon your return
that he dared not delay an instant beyond
your arrival to deliver this invitation to
you and to your daughter. He bids me welcome
you back to the city in his name, and
will do himself the honor to wait upon you
in person before the day set.”
</p>
<p>
So saying he handed Mistress Owen two
cards upon which were written the invitations,
and bowed himself out.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Robert, thee must be the aide of
whom he spoke,” cried Peggy receiving her
card excitedly. “See, girls! ’tis for tea on
Fifth Day week. How delightsome! May
we go, mother? How exciting town life is!
I had forgot ’twas so gay.”
</p>
<p>
“Too gay, I fear me,” said her mother
looking at the invitation dubiously. “Yes;
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35'></a>35</span>
we will go, Peggy, because ’tis right that we
should pay respect to General Arnold. He
hath no small task to restore the city to
order, but I do not wish to be drawn into a
round of frivolity.”
</p>
<p>
“But thee must let Peggy frivol a little,”
protested Sally. “It hath been long since
she hath been with us, Mistress Owen.”
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Owen laughed.
</p>
<p>
“A little, Sally, I am willing for. But I
wish not that nothing else should be thought
about. It seems as though the city hath gone
wild with merrymaking. I like it not.”
</p>
<p>
“Of a truth there is too much tea drinking
and feasting, madam,” spoke Robert Dale
soberly. “There are many who are dissatisfied
with the state of things while the army
is ill-fed and ill-clothed. I for one would far
rather be yonder in the field, even in misery,
than here dancing attendance upon routs, and
the whims of females.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Robert!” came in a reproachful
chorus from the girls. “Thee is unmannerly.”
</p>
<p>
“Your pardon,” said the youth sweeping
them a profound curtsey to hide his confusion. “I meant
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36'></a>36</span>
no offense to any present,
but spoke of the sex in general.”
</p>
<p>
“Thee does not deserve forgiveness; does
he, Peggy?” pouted Sally.
</p>
<p>
“If ’twere for aught else than the army, I
should say no,” answered Peggy laughing.
“But because he would rather be in the field
for the country we shall have to forgive him,
Sally.”
</p>
<p>
“Thank you, Peggy,” said the lad gratefully.
“I will try to make amends for my
untoward speech at another time. Now I
must attend my general. Shall I bear your
acceptance of his invitation, Mrs. Owen?”
</p>
<p>
“If thee will, Robert,” answered she with a
smile.
</p>
<p>
“Thee is routed, Robert,” cried Sally saucily
as he left them.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37'></a>37</span><a name='chIII' id='chIII'></a>CHAPTER III—AN OLD TIME ADVERTISEMENT</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“Now&#160;goes&#160;the&#160;nightly&#160;thief&#160;prowling&#160;abroad</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>For&#160;plunder;&#160;much&#160;solicitous&#160;how&#160;best</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>He&#160;may&#160;compensate&#160;for&#160;a&#160;day&#160;of&#160;sloth,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>By&#160;works&#160;of&#160;darkness&#160;and&#160;nocturnal&#160;wrong.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—“The&#160;Task,”&#160;<i>Cowper</i>.</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
It was Thursday morning, and Mrs. Owen
and Peggy had been very busy bringing the
house and grounds into something like order.
Now, however, both mother and daughter
were surveying ruefully a pile of garments
that constituted the remains of their depleted
wardrobes. Presently the lady laid down a
gray gown of tabby silk with a sigh.
</p>
<p>
“There is no help for it, my daughter.
Thee must have a new frock. I see not how
thou art to go to General Arnold’s tea otherwise.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh!” breathed Peggy a look of pleasure
irradiating her face. Then as a thought came
to her: “But are not goods very high, mother?
How can we afford it?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38'></a>38</span>
</p>
<p>
“We must, my child. Thou hast had no
new frocks since Lexington, and ’tis quite
time for others.”
</p>
<p>
“But neither hast thou, mother. Does thee
not remember that we covenanted together
that whatever we had to spend on clothes
should be given for garments for the soldiers?
Now if I have a new gown, thee must also.”
</p>
<p>
“We will see, Peggy. But a gown thee
must have. We will go to the mercer’s to-day;
but stay! Did not Sally speak of coming
for thee to go to see a tree of some sort?
That will delay us for another day.”
</p>
<p>
“How thee remembers, mother! She did,
and ’tis nine of the clock now. If she is
coming ’tis time she were here. Does thee
not hear horses, mother? Perhaps that is
she now.”
</p>
<p>
She ran to the window just in time to see
a party of youths and maidens draw rein
before the door. Sally Evans dismounted
and ran quickly into the dwelling.
</p>
<p>
“Art ready, Peggy?” she cried. “We are
going now to see the aloe tree.”
</p>
<p>
“What aloe tree is it, Sally?” queried
Peggy. “I have lived in Philadelphia all
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39'></a>39</span>
my life, yet never before did I ever hear of
one.”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis because it hath only of late become
remarkable,” answered Sally. “Mr. Dunlap
hath an account of it in the last ‘Packet.’
This is the only one in the whole state, and
every one is going to see it.”
</p>
<p>
“But I don’t understand, Sally. Why
should every one go? How is it remarkable?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Peggy! Peggy! That comes from
staying on a farm and not reading the papers.
Know then,” assuming a didactic tone, “that
the morning after the arrival of the French
Ambassador this tree shot forth its spire,
which it never does but once in the course of
its existence, and in some climates not less
than a hundred years. This one has been
planted about forty-five years in the neighborhood
of this city, and heretofore has produced
every year four leaves, but this spring
early it spread forth thirteen. And the spire,”
concluded Sally impressively, “is thirteen
inches round, and hath grown thirteen feet
in thirteen days.”
</p>
<p>
“But that is marvelous!” exclaimed the
amazed Peggy.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40'></a>40</span>
</p>
<p>
“Is ’t not? ’Tis regarded as a wonderful
omen anent the French alliance and the thirteen
states. Now do get ready, Peggy. Have
Tom to bring Star around at once. The others
are waiting.”
</p>
<p>
“Shall I wear a loo-mask or a vizard,
mother?” questioned Peggy, giving an anxious
glance at her reflection in the mirror.
</p>
<p>
“The loo-mask, Peggy. ’Tis easier held in
place. Not thy gray duffle riding frock, child.
’Tis o’er warm for that. Methinks that a safeguard
petticoat over the gown that thee has
on with a short camlet cloak will do nicely.
I will tell Tom to bring Star around for
thee.”
</p>
<p>
“Sally, what does thee think? I am to
have a new frock for General Arnold’s tea,”
confided Peggy as her mother left the room.
“I did not dream that we could spare money
for furbelows, but mother insists that I shall
have it.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, but that is <em>charmante</em>!” exclaimed
Sally. “Would that my mother thought likewise,
but I fear me that I shall have to wear
the same muslin frock that I’ve been wearing.
Hey day! Thee is a fortunate girl, Peggy.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41'></a>41</span>
</p>
<p>
“Am I not?” said Peggy gaily. “I have
had no new one for so long that it quite
upsets me. I think of nothing else, and long
for the time to come to choose it.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes; but do hurry now,” cried Sally
impatiently. “Thou art sufficiently smart
for a country lass.”
</p>
<p>
“Thee is saucy, Sally,” answered Peggy
giving her a playful push. “Don’t call me a
country girl. Thou art not so citified.”
</p>
<p>
“Well, I haven’t spent a whole year on a
farm,” retorted Sally. “Peggy, if thee gives
another stroke to thy hair thy cap will slip
off. ’Tis as smooth as satin now.”
</p>
<p>
“There! I am ready at last,” declared
Peggy adjusting her riding mask. “Oh, Sally,
’tis so good to be home again!”
</p>
<p>
“And ’tis so good to have thee, Peggy,”
returned her friend. “Nothing is the same
without thee. Why, when the city was under
Sir William Howe——”
</p>
<p>
“Something hath happened,” interrupted
Peggy hastily, bending her head to listen.
“Mother is calling, and she seems upset.
Come, Sally.”
</p>
<p>
They hurried out of the room, and went
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42'></a>42</span>
quickly to the eastern piazza where Mrs. Owen
and Tom, the groom, stood.
</p>
<p>
“What is it, mother?” asked Peggy noting
their disturbed looks.
</p>
<p>
“Peggy,” said her mother going to her,
“thee must be very brave, my child. Star
is gone. She hath been stolen from the
stable.”
</p>
<p>
“Star! My pony stolen!” cried the girl
as though unable to believe her ears. “My
pony! Oh, mother, it can’t be true!”
</p>
<p>
“I fear that it is only too true,” answered
the lady sorrowfully.
</p>
<p>
“But stolen? Who would steal Star?
Tom,”—turning quickly to the negro groom,—“when
did thee see her last? Didn’t thee
feed her this morning?
</p>
<p>
“No’m; I ain’t seed her dis mo’nin’,”
answered Tom who seemed stupefied by the
occurrence. “I fed her las’ night, Miss Peggy,
but when I kum out dis mo’nin’ she wuz
gone. De back doah wuz open, an’ I know’d
she wuz stole, kase I fas’n’d dat doah my own
sef las’ night.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, but she can’t be,” cried Peggy with a
sob. “Maybe she has just strayed away.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43'></a>43</span>
Has thee looked in the garden, Tom? Or
through the orchard?”
</p>
<p>
“I hab looked ebberwhar, Miss Peggy,” declared
the black with dignity. “Torm warn’t
gwine ter take any chances ob not seein’ dat
are mare when she de onlyest piece ob hoss-flesh
dat we has dat mounts ter a row ob
pins. No’m; she stole. Dat’s all dere is to it.”
</p>
<p>
“Peggy, Peggy!” called Robert Dale who,
grown tired of waiting, had come in search
of the girls. “What keeps you so long?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Robert!” wailed Peggy bursting into
tears. “My horse is stolen! My pretty,
pretty pony that father gave me!”
</p>
<p>
“Star stolen?” cried the youth aghast.
Tom told his story again.
</p>
<p>
“And the door was fastened last night, you
say? How about the door into the yard,
Tom?”
</p>
<p>
“I lock hit wid a padlock,” declared Tom.
“Dey wuz both fasten’d, Marster Dale. ‘Clare
ter goodness dey wuz! I did it my own sef.
I fastens de inside doah on de inside, an’ de
outside one on de outside. De front one wuz
locked dis mo’nin’, but de back one wuz wide
open.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44'></a>44</span>
</p>
<p>
“Then some one must have been hiding
inside,” declared Robert. “I will take a look
through the barn.”
</p>
<p>
With Sally’s arm about her, Peggy and her
friend followed the youth to the stables. The
lad mounted the ladder that led to the mow,
and presently called down excitedly:
</p>
<p>
“There hath been some one here of a truth.
Here is a place where he hath lain concealed
in the straw, and the remnants of food that
hath been eaten. ’Tis all as plain as day!”
</p>
<p>
“But Star?” questioned Peggy with quivering
lips as Robert descended the ladder and
stood once more beside them.
</p>
<p>
“We’ll do everything we can to find her,
Peggy,” answered the boy as cheerfully as he
could. “Now let us tell the others. They
will be wondering what the matter is.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Peggy, what will you do for a horse
to go with us?” cried Betty Williams as the
party of young people heard the news.
</p>
<p>
“She may take mine,” suggested Robert.
“I will stay here to see what can be done
about Star.”
</p>
<p>
“That is good of thee,” said Peggy, wiping
her eyes. “Do thou, Sally, and all the others
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45'></a>45</span>
go on as planned. If Robert will stay to do
whatever can be done there is no need of any
one else. ’Twould be mean to spoil thy pleasuring
just for my sake.”
</p>
<p>
And so, despite their protests the young
people were sent on, and Robert turned to
Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“Weep no more,” he entreated, “but give
me your aid in writing an advertisement.
This we will put in ‘The Packet,’ as that paper
will appear before ‘The Gazette,’ and that may
bring some result. That will be the best thing
to do, will it not, Madam Owen?”
</p>
<p>
“I think so, Robert. And offer a reward
also. It may meet the eye of the person who
took the mare and induce him to return her.
I like not to think of any taking her, though.
Philadelphia is changed indeed.”
</p>
<p>
“It is, madam. Naught is safe though
General Arnold strives to enforce strict military
rule. War doth indeed cause sad havoc
with the morals of people. How much shall
the reward be?”
</p>
<p>
“One hundred dollars,” answered the lady,
after a moment’s calculation. “What a help
thou art.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46'></a>46</span>
</p>
<p>
“’Tis a pleasure,” returned he gallantly.
“Beside, is not your husband in the field
while we who dally here have naught to do?
’Tis good to have something beside pleasuring
to divert the mind. And the advertisement?
’Tis highly fashionable to have it writ in
verse. I like it not, but anything in the
mode commands more attention. If you will
help me, Peggy, perhaps I can compass it,
though straight prose is more to my liking.”
</p>
<p>
So, drying her eyes, Peggy brought forth
inkhorn and quills, and the two evolved the
following advertisement, which followed the
fashion of the day:
</p>
<p>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;ONE&nbsp;&nbsp;HUNDRED&nbsp;&nbsp;DOLLARS&nbsp;&nbsp;REWARD!<br />
&#160;<br/>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Last&nbsp;&nbsp;night&nbsp;&nbsp;was&nbsp;&nbsp;stole&nbsp;&nbsp;away&nbsp;&nbsp;from&nbsp;&nbsp;me<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A&nbsp;&nbsp;likely&nbsp;&nbsp;jet-black&nbsp;&nbsp;mare&nbsp;&nbsp;was&nbsp;&nbsp;she<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Just&nbsp;&nbsp;four&nbsp;&nbsp;years&nbsp;&nbsp;old&nbsp;&nbsp;this&nbsp;&nbsp;month&nbsp;&nbsp;or&nbsp;&nbsp;nigh,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;About&nbsp;&nbsp;fourteen&nbsp;&nbsp;and&nbsp;&nbsp;half&nbsp;&nbsp;hands&nbsp;&nbsp;high;<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;She’s&nbsp;&nbsp;in&nbsp;&nbsp;good&nbsp;&nbsp;order&nbsp;&nbsp;and&nbsp;&nbsp;doth&nbsp;&nbsp;trot,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And&nbsp;&nbsp;paceth&nbsp;&nbsp;some,&nbsp;&nbsp;I’m&nbsp;&nbsp;sure&nbsp;&nbsp;of&nbsp;&nbsp;that;<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Is&nbsp;&nbsp;wondrous&nbsp;&nbsp;pretty;&nbsp;&nbsp;a&nbsp;&nbsp;small&nbsp;&nbsp;star<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;In&nbsp;&nbsp;her&nbsp;&nbsp;forehead&nbsp;&nbsp;there&nbsp;&nbsp;doth&nbsp;&nbsp;appear;<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Her&nbsp;&nbsp;tail&nbsp;&nbsp;was&nbsp;&nbsp;waved&nbsp;&nbsp;three&nbsp;&nbsp;days&nbsp;&nbsp;ago<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Just&nbsp;&nbsp;like&nbsp;&nbsp;her&nbsp;&nbsp;mane,&nbsp;&nbsp;you’ll&nbsp;&nbsp;find&nbsp;&nbsp;it&nbsp;&nbsp;so;<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Above&nbsp;&nbsp;her&nbsp;&nbsp;eyes,&nbsp;&nbsp;if&nbsp;&nbsp;you&nbsp;&nbsp;come&nbsp;&nbsp;near,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;She’s&nbsp;&nbsp;very&nbsp;&nbsp;hollow,&nbsp;&nbsp;that&nbsp;&nbsp;is&nbsp;&nbsp;clear;<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;She&nbsp;&nbsp;has&nbsp;&nbsp;new&nbsp;&nbsp;fore&nbsp;&nbsp;shoes&nbsp;&nbsp;on,&nbsp;&nbsp;this&nbsp;&nbsp;I&nbsp;&nbsp;know—<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I&nbsp;&nbsp;had&nbsp;&nbsp;her&nbsp;&nbsp;shod&nbsp;&nbsp;a&nbsp;&nbsp;week&nbsp;&nbsp;ago.<br />
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47'></a>47</span>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The&nbsp;&nbsp;above&nbsp;&nbsp;reward&nbsp;&nbsp;it&nbsp;&nbsp;will&nbsp;&nbsp;be&nbsp;&nbsp;sure<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To&nbsp;&nbsp;any&nbsp;&nbsp;person&nbsp;&nbsp;that&nbsp;&nbsp;secures<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Said&nbsp;&nbsp;thief&nbsp;&nbsp;and&nbsp;&nbsp;mare,&nbsp;&nbsp;that&nbsp;&nbsp;I&nbsp;&nbsp;may&nbsp;&nbsp;see<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;My&nbsp;&nbsp;mare&nbsp;&nbsp;again&nbsp;&nbsp;restor’d&nbsp;&nbsp;to&nbsp;&nbsp;me.<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Or&nbsp;&nbsp;Fifty&nbsp;&nbsp;Dollars&nbsp;&nbsp;for&nbsp;&nbsp;the&nbsp;&nbsp;mare,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;If&nbsp;&nbsp;the&nbsp;&nbsp;thief&nbsp;&nbsp;should&nbsp;&nbsp;happen&nbsp;&nbsp;to&nbsp;&nbsp;get&nbsp;&nbsp;clear;<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;All&nbsp;&nbsp;traveling&nbsp;&nbsp;charges&nbsp;&nbsp;if&nbsp;&nbsp;brought&nbsp;&nbsp;home<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Upon&nbsp;&nbsp;the&nbsp;&nbsp;nail&nbsp;&nbsp;I&nbsp;&nbsp;will&nbsp;&nbsp;pay&nbsp;&nbsp;down.<br />
</p>
<p>
“There!” declared Robert Dale when the
two had completed their labor. “There will
be no more elegant effusion in the paper.
’Tis finely writ and to the point. I’ll take it
at once to Mr. Dunlap, so that he may put
it into Saturday’s ‘Packet.’ If that doesn’t
fetch your mare back, Peggy, I don’t know
what will.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48'></a>48</span><a name='chIV' id='chIV'></a>CHAPTER IV—A GIRL’S SACRIFICE</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“In&#160;Being’s&#160;floods,&#160;in&#160;Action’s&#160;storm,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>I&#160;walk&#160;and&#160;work,&#160;above,&#160;beneath,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Work&#160;and&#160;weave&#160;in&#160;endless&#160;motion!</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;&#160;Birth&#160;and&#160;Death,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;&#160;An&#160;infinite&#160;ocean;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;&#160;A&#160;seizing&#160;and&#160;giving</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;&#160;The&#160;fire&#160;of&#160;living:</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>’Tis&#160;thus&#160;at&#160;the&#160;roaring&#160;Loom&#160;of&#160;Time&#160;I&#160;ply,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>And&#160;weave&#160;for&#160;God&#160;the&#160;Garment&#160;thou&#160;seest&#160;Him&#160;by.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—“Faust,”&#160;<i>Gœthe</i>.</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
“Thee is troubled, mother,” observed Peggy
as she and Mrs. Owen left the yard of Christ
Church where they had been attending morning
service.
</p>
<p>
The meeting-house which was built for the
use of those Quakers who had so far departed
from the tenets of the Society of Friends as to
array themselves on the side of their country
had not yet been erected, and the Free
Quakers, as they were called, were therefore
compelled to attend worship of other churches,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49'></a>49</span>
or content themselves with “religious retirement,”
as family service was called.
</p>
<p>
“I am, Peggy,” answered the lady a look
of anxiety overcasting her face. “Let us walk
for a little before returning home. It may
be that the air will soothe my feelings.”
</p>
<p>
Seeing that her mother wished to be left in
quiet the girl walked sedately by her side,
ever and anon stealing a glance of apprehension
at the lady’s face. Presently Mrs. Owen
spoke:
</p>
<p>
“Tis naught to make thee look so uneasy,
child. I am concerned over the city, and the
extravagance that abounds on every side.
See the ferment that it is in! Formerly on
First Day the streets were orderly and quiet.
Now observe what a noisy throng fills the
thoroughfares. Let us walk on. Perchance
at Wicaco we may find the peace and quiet
we seek.”
</p>
<p>
The quiet, sedate city of Penn had in truth
lost its air of demure respectability. As the
metropolis of the colonies it attracted all
those adventurers of the older countries who
sought to mend their fortunes at the expense
of the new United States. Many also who
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50'></a>50</span>
were sincere in their admiration of the struggle
for liberty had come to offer Congress
their services, and taverns and inns were
filled to overflowing with strangers of distinction
and otherwise. Militia drilled; troops
marched and countermarched; while many
British officers, prisoners on parole, paraded
the streets, adding a bright bit of color with
their scarlet coats.
</p>
<p>
Mother and daughter passed slowly below
High Street and continued down Second.
Past shops they went, and the City Tavern,
crowded about with sedan chairs and chaises;
past the Loxley House, in which lived that
Lydia Darrach who had stolen out of the city
the winter before to warn the patriots of a
contemplated attack by the British; past the
dwelling of the Cadwaladers; past also the
great house built and formerly owned by the
Shippens; and on past other mansions with
their gardens until finally they paused involuntarily
as the sound of singing came to
them. The sounds were wafted from the old
Swedish church of Gloria Dei, and the two
stood in silence until the singing ceased.
</p>
<p>
“Friends believe not in hymns or singing,”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51'></a>51</span>
remarked Mrs. Owen as they turned to retrace
their steps. “But there is something
about the intoning of the psalms that calms
the mind. It has ever brought comfort to
me.”
</p>
<p>
“Mother,” spoke Peggy shyly.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, my daughter.”
</p>
<p>
“The one thing that I have always minded
about the Friends is that very lack of music.
When I see other girls play the spinet I too
would like dearly to play upon it. I have
always loved music, mother.”
</p>
<p>
“I know thee has, Peggy. That is the
reason that I have not chided thee when I
heard thee singing the ballads and songs of
the world’s people. Perhaps some time we
may see our way to thy learning the spinet.
If it is right thee will be led to it.”
</p>
<p>
“I know,” answered Peggy. And then,
after a moment—“What troubled thee,
mother?”
</p>
<p>
“Vanities, child. ’Twas the dressing, and
the pomade, and the powder discovered in
the meeting. I have never seen so much before.
And also, I shame to confess it, Peggy,
thy garb troubled me.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52'></a>52</span>
</p>
<p>
“Mine, mother?” Peggy looked up in
amazement, and then glanced down at her
girlish frock of chintz. “Why, mother?”
</p>
<p>
“In the first enthusiasm of the war,” said
Mrs. Owen, “thee remembers how we, thou
and I, together with many patriotic women
and girls, banded together in an association
formed against the use of foreign goods. We
pledged ourselves to wear homespun rather
than buy any of the foreign calicoes and silks.
Before the Declaration every patriotic woman
was known by her clothes, and it so continued
until we left the city at the coming of
the British. Of course, now that the line of
separation hath been drawn between Britain
and her colonies, there no longer exists the
same patriotic reason for such abstinence; but
we seem to be the last to come to such knowledge.”
</p>
<p>
“Mother, I never knew thee to be concerned
anent such things before,” said the
girl quickly.
</p>
<p>
“Perchance it hath been because we have
not been dressed with singularity before,” observed
the lady. “I hold that every gentlewoman
should be arrayed becomingly and
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53'></a>53</span>
with such due regard to the mode that
her attire will not excite comment. Not that
I wish thy thoughts altogether concerned
about such matters. Thee knows how we
have received warnings from good and wise
men on the subject in our own meetings, but
we must do credit to David. And,” she
added with a slight smile, “while we are
still ready to sacrifice our lives even for the
cause of liberty, we cannot steer clear of the
whirlpool of fashion if we are to remain in
the city. Was thee not sensible of the difference
between thy garb and that of thy
friends?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” admitted the maiden candidly.
“But I tried not to think about it. I have
been longing for some new frocks, but since
Star hath been taken I have not cared so
much.”
</p>
<p>
“The city seems caught in a very vortex of
luxury and extravagance,” went on the matron.
“I do not mean that we should be of
those who care for naught but self-adornment
and useless waste. Were it not for thee——”
She paused a moment and then continued:
“Thou hast been very self-denying, my
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54'></a>54</span>
daughter, concerning this matter, and hast
borne the filching of thy pony bravely. So
then thou shalt have not only a frock for the
general’s tea, but another also. And a cloak,
and a hat, together with a quilted petticoat.”
</p>
<p>
“Mother, mother!” almost screamed Peggy.
“Thee overwhelms me. Where will the
money come from?”
</p>
<p>
“We have made a little from the harvests
of the past summer, Peggy. Then the farm
pays in other ways. Some of David’s ventures
have turned out well, despite the war
and the fact that he is in the army. We
shall have to be careful, my daughter, and
not run into extravagance, but there is enough
to furnish thee with a simple wardrobe.”
</p>
<p>
“And thou?” questioned the girl.
</p>
<p>
“I shall do well as I am, dear child. And
now let us turn our thoughts from this too
worldly subject to others more befitting First
Day. To-morrow we will go to the mercer’s
for the things.”
</p>
<p>
And so, despite the fact that nothing had
as yet been heard of the stolen pony, it was a
very happy maiden that set forth with her
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55'></a>55</span>
mother the next day for the shops in Second
Street.
</p>
<p>
“Friend,” said the lady to a mercer who
came forward to wait upon them, “let us
look at thy petticoats, calimanico; for,” she
said in an aside to Peggy, “’twill be the part
of wisdom to purchase the homely articles
first, lest we be carried beyond our intention
for the frocks. We shall have to be careful,
as the prices, no doubt, have become higher.
How much is this, friend?”
</p>
<p>
“Fifteen pounds, fifteen shillings,” answered
he.
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Owen looked up in amazement, while
Peggy, with less control, cried out:
</p>
<p>
“Such a price, and without quilting! Once
it could have been bought for fifteen shillings.”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis very likely,” smiled the shopkeeper.
“That must have been before the war. Prices
are soaring on everything, and are like to go
higher before falling.”
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Owen laid down the garment gravely.
</p>
<p>
“A coat and a hat,” she said. “What will
be the cost of a very ordinary one of each?”
</p>
<p>
“They cannot be procured under two hundred
pounds, madam.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56'></a>56</span>
</p>
<p>
“And gauze for caps?”
</p>
<p>
“The common grade is twenty-four dollars
a yard. The better quality fifty dollars.”
</p>
<p>
“Mother,” whispered Peggy, “why need
thee buy the petticoat? We can weave cloth
for it, and I can quilt it myself.”
</p>
<p>
“True, Peggy,” assented her mother. “I
think we can manage about the petticoat, but
a frock thou must have. A frock and some
gloves.”
</p>
<p>
“Cloth for a frock, madam?” questioned
the merchant eagerly. “Shall it be lutestring,
poplin, brocade, or broadcloth? I have the
best of England, madam.”
</p>
<p>
But Mrs. Owen’s face grew grave indeed as
he mentioned prices. Peggy’s eyes filled with
tears. She saw her new frock vanishing into
thin air as fabric after fabric was brought forth
only to be rejected when the cost was named.
She knew that she had nothing to wear to
the tea at headquarters unless a new gown
was purchased, and she choked in her disappointment.
Her mother saw her tears and
turned to the merchant with determination.
</p>
<p>
“I will——” she opened her lips to say,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57'></a>57</span>
when some one tapped her lightly on the
shoulder, and a clear voice called:
</p>
<p>
“Why, Madam Owen, are you buying gowns?
What extravagance! If farm life pays well
enough to buy cloth these times I shall get
me to a farmery at once. Mr. Bache wishes
to go.”
</p>
<p>
“Sally Franklin, how does thee do?” exclaimed
Mrs. Owen, greeting the young matron
warmly. “I came down intending to buy a
great deal, but——”
</p>
<p>
“The prices! The prices!” cried Franklin’s
daughter, waving her hands. “It takes
a fortune to keep a family in a very plain way.
And there never was so much dressing and
pleasure going on! I wrote to father to send
me a number of things from France, among
them some long black pins, lace, and some
feathers, thinking he could get such things
much cheaper there.”
</p>
<p>
“And did he?” eagerly questioned Peggy,
who had now recovered herself.
</p>
<p>
“No; and I got well scolded for my extravagance,”
laughed Mrs. Bache. “He sent
the things he thought necessary, omitting the
others. He advised me to wear cambric ruffles
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58'></a>58</span>
instead of lace, and to take care not to mend
them. In time they would come to lace, he
said. As for feathers, why send that which
could be had from every cock’s tail in
America.”
</p>
<p>
“How like Dr. Franklin that is,” remarked
Mrs. Owen much amused. “What did thee
answer?”
</p>
<p>
“That I had to be content with muslin
caps in winter, and in summer I went without.
As for cambric I had none to make lace of.
Oh, we shall all come to linsey-woolsey, I
fear. Dr. Shippen talks of moving his family
from the city, and the rest of us will have to
do the same.”
</p>
<p>
She moved away. The shopkeeper turned
to bring on more goods, hoping to tempt his
customers, and Peggy took hold of her
mother’s hand gently.
</p>
<p>
“It will cut into thy resources greatly to
get these things, won’t it, mother?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” assented the lady soberly. “For
the frock alone I would have to pay as much
as I had intended for thy entire outfit.”
</p>
<p>
“Then thee must not do it,” said Peggy
gravely.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59'></a>59</span>
</p>
<p>
“There is one way that it can be done, my
daughter,” said her mother not looking at her.
“If thou wilt consent to forego all charitable
gifts this winter; if thou wilt let the soldiers
or any other needy ones go without benefit
from thee; then thou canst take the money
for all thy things: the hat, the coat, the two
frocks, the gloves, and all the other necessaries
of which we spoke. Now, Peggy,
I will not blame thee if thou dost choose
according to thy wishes, for thou hast
already given up much. It rests with
thee.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy looked at the dazzling array of
fabrics spread temptingly upon the counter.
She did want a new gown so badly. She
needed it, she told herself quickly. She had
given up a great deal. Must she give up in
this too? For an instant she wavered, and
then a vision of some of the soldiers that she
had seen flashed across her mind, and she
turned from the glittering array with a little
sob.
</p>
<p>
“I could not, I could not,” she cried.
“And have nothing for the poor soldiers!
It would be a sin! But oh, mother! do let
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60'></a>60</span>
us hurry away from here. The spirit is willing,
but the flesh is so weak.”
</p>
<p>
Pausing only for a word of courteous explanation
to the mercer the lady followed the
maiden from the store.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61'></a>61</span><a name='chV' id='chV'></a>CHAPTER V—UP IN THE ATTIC</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“Up&#160;in&#160;the&#160;attic&#160;where&#160;mother&#160;goes</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;&#160;Is&#160;a&#160;trunk&#160;in&#160;a&#160;shadowed&#160;nook—</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>A&#160;trunk—and&#160;its&#160;lid&#160;she&#160;will&#160;oft&#160;unclose,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;&#160;As&#160;if&#160;’twere&#160;a&#160;precious&#160;book.</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>She&#160;kneels&#160;at&#160;its&#160;side&#160;on&#160;the&#160;attic&#160;boards,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;&#160;And&#160;tenderly,&#160;soft&#160;and&#160;slow,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>She&#160;counts&#160;all&#160;the&#160;treasures&#160;she&#160;fondly&#160;hoards—</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;&#160;The&#160;things&#160;of&#160;long&#160;ago.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>Anonymous</i>.</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
“I fear we have made a mistake in returning
to town,” observed Mrs. Owen when at
length they reached the dwelling after a silent
walk home. “I had no idea things had become
so dear. There is hardly such a thing
as living in town, but David wished us to be
here. In truth, with so many outlaws scouring
the country, I feel that we are far safer
than we would be on the farm. And yet
what shall be done anent the matter of
clothes? Thou must have a frock for the tea
party.”
</p>
<p>
“I can wear my blue and white Persian,”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62'></a>62</span>
said the girl bravely. “Thee must not worry
so over my frock, mother.”
</p>
<p>
“Thy Persian was new three years since,”
objected her mother. “And thou hast grown,
Peggy. Beside, ’tis faded. Stay! I have
the very thing. Come with me, child.”
</p>
<p>
She sprang up with so much animation that
Peggy wondered at her. It was not customary
with Mrs. Owen to be harassed over such a
matter as clothes, but her daughter’s unselfishness
when her need was so great had
stirred her to unusual tenderness. Up to the
garret they went, the lady leading the way
with the agility of a girl. The attic extended
over the entire main building. There were
great recesses under the eaves which pigeons
sought, and dark closets where one might
hide as in the old legend of the old oak chest.
</p>
<p>
From one of the shadowed niches Mrs.
Owen drew forth a chest. It was battered and
old, yet it required all the lady’s strength to
force the lock.
</p>
<p>
“The key is lost,” she explained to Peggy
who was following her movements with
eagerness. “’Tis a mercy the house was occupied
by British in place of Hessians. Had
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63'></a>63</span>
they had it everything would have been taken.
The English were more moderate in their
plundering, though they did take many of
Dr. Franklin’s books, I hear, and his portrait.<a name="FNanchor_1" id="FNanchor_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor"><sup>[1]</sup></a>
</p>
<p>
“There,” she exclaimed almost gaily, drawing
forth a yellowing dress, and holding it up
to view with gentle pride. “There, Peggy!
There is thy frock.”
</p>
<p>
A faint sweet perfume emanated from the
folds of the garment as Mrs. Owen held it up.
Peggy touched it wonderingly.
</p>
<p>
“Whose was it, mother?” she asked almost
in a whisper. “Not thine?”
</p>
<p>
“Mine, Peggy? Why, ’twas my wedding
dress.” The lady smoothed the satin folds
tenderly. “’Twas once the sheerest white,
but it hath lain so long that it hath mellowed
to cream. But that will be the more becoming
to thy dark hair and eyes.”
</p>
<p>
“And I am to wear it?” queried the
maiden in awed tones. “Oh, mother, ’tis too
much to ask of thee.”
</p>
<p>
“Thee deserves it, my daughter. I would
far rather that thou shouldst have the good
of it than it should lie here to rot. Let me
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64'></a>64</span>
see!” Diving down into the chest with a
gaiety she did not often exhibit, she brought
up some little shoes, silken to match the
gown. “Ah! I thought these should be
here. And here is a fan with sticks of sandal
wood. And a piece of fine lawn that will
make thee an apron. Come! we shall do
nicely. ’Tis a veritable treasure chest we
have come upon. We will not explore it
further now. There may come another time
of need. Take thou the shoon, Peggy, and
the fan. I will carry the gown. We will begin
work at once. I was slender when the
frock was worn, but thou art a full inch
smaller about the waist. ’Twill be easily
fixed.”
</p>
<p>
With reverent hands Peggy took the shoes
and fan, and followed her mother down to the
living-room.
</p>
<p>
As Sally had said, Peggy was indeed thankful
for the hours of training in fine sewing
and embroidery. When finally the day came
for the trying on, and the desired frock fulfilled
her highest expectation, her ecstasy was
unable to contain itself.
</p>
<p>
“Thee is the best mother that ever lived,”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65'></a>65</span>
she cried catching Mrs. Owen about the waist
and giving her a girlish hug. “What would
I do without thee? Oh, mother! what if thee
had had no wedding gown? What would we
have done?”
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Owen laughed, well pleased at her
enthusiasm.
</p>
<p>
“We will not consider that part of it,
Peggy,” she said. “We have it in truth, and
it does indeed look well. A new frock would
have looked no better. Ah! here is Sally.
Let her give her opinion.”
</p>
<p>
“Thee comes just in time, Sally,” cried
Peggy as Sally Evans was shown into the
room. “How does thee like my new frock?”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis much prettier than mine,” declared
Sally eying the gown critically. “And
vastly distinctive. Where did thee get the
material, Peggy? I never saw quite the
shade.”
</p>
<p>
“Then thee thinks it citified and à la
mode?” queried Peggy, ignoring the question.
</p>
<p>
“’Tis as sweet and modish as can be,” cried
Sally generously. “Thee will outshine all us
females, Peggy.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66'></a>66</span>
</p>
<p>
“Thee can’t mean that, Sally,” reproved
Peggy flushing at such praise. “I know that
thee is partial to thy friend, but that is going
too far.”
</p>
<p>
“But ’tis the truth,” answered Sally.
“Would that I had seen that fabric, and I
would have chosen it for my new frock. I
did get a new one after all. I teased mother
into getting it by telling her that thee was to
have a new one.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh! did thee?” cried Peggy. “Why,
Sally, this was mother’s wedding gown. We
went to get a frock, but found the prices
beyond us. Mother was determined that I
should have the gown though, so she gave me
this.”
</p>
<p>
“Mother was going to get it anyway,
Peggy,” said Sally quickly, seeing her friend’s
dismay. “It might not have been until later
but I was to have a dress this winter. So
thee must not think it thy fault that I got it.
Would though that I had not. I wonder if
my mother hath a wedding gown. This is
vastly pretty.”
</p>
<p>
“Is ‘t not?” cried Peggy. “And, Sally, I
hear there is to be dancing after the tea at the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67'></a>67</span>
general’s. It is strange for Quakers to attend
such affairs. Why, does thee not remember
how we used to wish to attend the weekly
assemblies, and how it was spoke against in
the meeting?”
</p>
<p>
“It is strange,” assented Sally, “but Quakers
go everywhere now with the world’s people.
What was it that Master Benezet used to teach
us? Something anent the times, was it not?”
</p>
<p>
“‘O tempora! O mores,’” quoted Peggy.
“‘O the times! O the manners!’ How long
ago it seems since we went to Master Benezet’s
school. Heigh ho! would I were attending
it again!”
</p>
<p>
“Why, Peggy Owen, would thee wish to
miss this tea?” demanded her friend. “For
my part I am monstrously glad that I am
through with books; for now I am going
to——” She paused abruptly. “But ’tis to
remain secret for a time,” she added.
</p>
<p>
“Sally! a secret from me?” exclaimed
Peggy reproachfully. “I thought thee told
me everything.”
</p>
<p>
“I do; usually,” returned the other with a
consequential air. “But this is of great import,
and is not to be known for a few days.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68'></a>68</span>
Oh, Peggy,” she cried, suddenly dropping her
important mien, and giving Peggy a hearty
squeeze. “I am dying to tell thee all about
it, but I cannot until—until—well, until the
night of General Arnold’s tea.”
</p>
<p>
And so it came about that Peggy had
another incentive for awaiting that event impatiently.
</p>
<hr class='fnsep' />
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1" id="Footnote_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a>
This, in fact, was not recovered until long afterward in London.
</p></div>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69'></a>69</span><a name='chVI' id='chVI'></a>CHAPTER VI—TEA AT HEADQUARTERS</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“Give&#160;Betsy&#160;a&#160;brush&#160;of&#160;horse&#160;hair&#160;and&#160;wool,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;&#160;Of&#160;paste&#160;and&#160;pomatum&#160;a&#160;pound,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Ten&#160;yards&#160;of&#160;gay&#160;ribbon&#160;to&#160;deck&#160;her&#160;sweet&#160;skull,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;&#160;And&#160;gauze&#160;to&#160;encompass&#160;it&#160;round.</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Her&#160;cap&#160;flies&#160;behind,&#160;for&#160;a&#160;yard&#160;at&#160;the&#160;least,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;&#160;And&#160;her&#160;curls&#160;meet&#160;just&#160;under&#160;her&#160;chin,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>And&#160;those&#160;curls&#160;are&#160;supported,&#160;to&#160;keep&#160;up&#160;the&#160;jest,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;&#160;By&#160;a&#160;hundred,&#160;instead&#160;of&#160;one&#160;pin.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>A&#160;Verse&#160;of&#160;the&#160;Day</i>.</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
“Will I do, mother?” asked Peggy, taking
up the old fan with the sandal wood
sticks, and turning about slowly for the lady’s
inspection.
</p>
<p>
It was the night of General Arnold’s tea,
and the maiden had just put the finishing
touch to her toilet, and was all aglow with
excitement. The creamy folds of the silken
gown well became her dark hair and eyes.
The bodice, cut square, revealed her white
throat so young and girlish. Her white silk
mitts, long and without fingers, were held to
the sleeve by “tightens.” A gauze cap with
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70'></a>70</span>
wings and streamers perched saucily upon
her dark locks which were simply drawn
back from her low, broad forehead, braided
with a ribbon, and powdered but little. The
prim little frock fell just to her ankles, revealing
the clocked white stockings and
dainty high heeled slippers with pearls glistening
upon the buckles.
</p>
<p>
“Didst ever behold a more bewitching
damsel than thy daughter, Mistress Peggy
Owen?” she cried, sweeping her mother a
deep curtsey.
</p>
<p>
Her eyes were shining. She was for the
nonce a happy maiden concerned with naught
save the pleasures of girlhood, and possessed
of a mood that would have been habitual had
not the mighty sweep of public events tinged
her girlish gaiety with an untoward gravity.
</p>
<p>
Some such thought flitted through Mrs.
Owen’s mind as she surveyed her daughter
with tender eyes, and she sighed. A look of
anxiety flitted over Peggy’s face.
</p>
<p>
“Is thee not well?” she queried. “Or is
it wrong, mother, for me to be so happy when
father is in the field?”
</p>
<p>
“Neither, my daughter. I was but wishing that thou
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71'></a>71</span>
couldst be as care free all the
time as thou art to-night. But there! we
will partake of the fruit that is offered leaving
the bitter until the morrow. Thy gown
well becomes thee, child. I make no doubt
but that thou wilt look as well as any.”
</p>
<p>
“Mother,” exclaimed the girl, a soft flush
dyeing her face, “thee will make me vain.”
</p>
<p>
“I trust not, my daughter. Others will,
no doubt, tell thee so, and ’tis as well that
thou shouldst hear it first from me. Let it
not spoil thee, Peggy. Ah! here is Sukey to
tell us that Robert and his uncle have come
for us.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy gave a backward look at her reflection
in the mirror, and well pleased with what
she saw there followed her mother sedately to
the drawing-room where Robert Dale and
his uncle, Mr. Jacob Deering, awaited them.
</p>
<p>
The latter, stately in an olive-colored silk
velvet with knee buckles, silk stockings,
bright silver shoe-buckles and the usual three
looped hat held in his hand, hastened to greet
them as they entered.
</p>
<p>
“Zounds! Miss Peggy,” he cried. “’Tis
well that I am not a young buck, else you
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72'></a>72</span>
should look no further for a gallant. Bless
me, but you have grown pretty! Bob, you
rascal! why did you not prepare me for what
I should see? Upon my word, child, you
must not mind a kiss from an old man.”
</p>
<p>
So saying he held her at arm’s length in
admiration, and then kissed her on both
her cheeks. Whereat Peggy blushed right
prettily.
</p>
<p>
“Thee will make me vain,” she protested.
“And mother hath but ceased warning me
against such vanity. In truth, Friend Deering,
I believe that no girl was ever so happy
as I am to-night.”
</p>
<p>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“‘Gather&nbsp;&nbsp;ye&nbsp;&nbsp;rosebuds&nbsp;&nbsp;while&nbsp;&nbsp;ye&nbsp;&nbsp;may:<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Old&nbsp;&nbsp;Time&nbsp;&nbsp;is&nbsp;&nbsp;still&nbsp;&nbsp;a-flying;<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And&nbsp;&nbsp;this&nbsp;&nbsp;same&nbsp;&nbsp;flower&nbsp;&nbsp;that&nbsp;&nbsp;smiles&nbsp;&nbsp;to-day,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To-morrow&nbsp;&nbsp;may&nbsp;&nbsp;be&nbsp;&nbsp;dying,’”<br />
</p>
<p>
he quoted gaily. “Have your fling, child.
The morrow may bring grave problems to be
solved, so be happy while you can. ’Tis
youth’s prerogative. Bob, do you follow
with Mrs. Owen. I shall take an old man’s
privilege and lead the princess to the coach
myself. I’ faith, there will be no opportunity for
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73'></a>73</span>
a word with her once she reaches
headquarters.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy gave Robert Dale an arch glance
over her shoulder as the old gentleman led
her to the coach, where she settled herself to
await with what patience she could their arrival
at Major-General Arnold’s.
</p>
<p>
At this time there was no suspicion whispered
against the patriotism of Benedict
Arnold. Scarcely any soldier had done so
much to sustain the liberties of his country,
and tales of his prowess, his daring and courage
were rife in the city. Upon being placed
in charge of Philadelphia by the commander-in-chief,
General Washington, he had taken
possession of the mansion in High Street,
once the home of Richard Penn, and
recently occupied by Sir William Howe. It
was regarded as one of the finest houses in
the city, was built of brick, and stood on the
southeast corner of Front and High Streets.
</p>
<p>
Peggy and her mother knew that the affair
was to be more than the ordinary tea, but
they were scarcely prepared for the sumptuousness
of the occasion.
</p>
<p>
“Is it a ball, Robert?” whispered the girl
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74'></a>74</span>
as they stood for a moment in the crush
about the door.
</p>
<p>
“No,” answered the youth a frown contracting
his brow. “’Tis elaborate enough
for one, and that is truth, Peggy. But when
one is given it seems to be the general’s purpose
to outvie all that rumor hath spoken
of the Mischianza. All his entertainments
are given on a most magnificent scale; as
though he were a man of unbounded wealth
and high social position. I like it not.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy opened her lips to reply, but before
she could do so the way was cleared for them
to approach the general. The girl looked
with intense interest at the gallant soldier
of whose prowess she had heard so much.
He was a dark, well-made man, still young,
not having reached the meridian of life; his
face, bronzed and darkened by fatigue and exposure,
indicated that he had seen the severest
hardships of a soldier’s life. Unable to accept
a command in the field because of the
wounds received at Saratoga the preceding
fall he had been made commandant of the
city. He was still on crutches, being thin
and worn from the effects of his hurt.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75'></a>75</span>
</p>
<p>
Some of the stories of his great courage
upon that occasion came to Peggy’s mind,
and brought a glow of admiration to her
eyes. She flushed rosily as he said in greeting:
</p>
<p>
“I am pleased to welcome you, Mistress
Peggy. A certain aide of mine hath talked
of naught else but your return for a week
past. You are to report him to me if he does
not give you an enjoyable time. Ah, Dale!
look to’t that you distinguish yourself in the
matter.”
</p>
<p>
“Are there none but Tories?” questioned
Peggy, as General Arnold turned to greet
other arrivals, and Mrs. Owen paused to converse
with some acquaintances.
</p>
<p>
“Well,” the lad hesitated a moment and
then continued, “they seem remarkably fond
of him, Peggy, and he of them. I would it
were not so, but many of the staff have
thought that they flocked to his entertainments
in mischievous numbers.”
</p>
<p>
“But are there no others?” asked the girl
again, for on every side were Tories and Neutrals
to such an extent that scarce a Whig
was to be seen.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76'></a>76</span>
</p>
<p>
“Oh, yes, the gentlemen of Congress are
here somewhere, for there is Mr. Charles Lee,
who is always to be found where they are.
He pays court to them upon every occasion
in the endeavor to convince them what great
merit he showed at the battle of Monmouth.”
And the youth laughed.
</p>
<p>
“And the head-dresses,” exclaimed the girl
in astonishment. “How high they are. And
the pomade! And the powder! Why,
Robert, all the fashion of the city is here!”
</p>
<p>
“And what did the general say to thee,
Peggy?” cried Sally’s voice, and Robert and
Peggy turned to find Sally and Betty directly
behind them. “Did he compliment thee
upon thy name? ’Tis his favorite, thee
knows. There comes Miss Margaret Shippen
now, and look at thy general, Robert. One
could tell that he was paying court to
her.”
</p>
<p>
“They are to be married soon, I hear,” announced
Betty, when the laugh that had followed
Sally’s remark died away.
</p>
<p>
“How beautiful she is,” exclaimed Peggy
admiringly as she gazed at the stately Miss
Shippen.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77'></a>77</span>
</p>
<p>
“She is indeed,” assented Robert, “though
I would she were not a Tory.”
</p>
<p>
“Fie, fie, Robert,” laughed Peggy. “Is not
thy Cousin Kitty a Tory? I never heard thee
object to her.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Kitty! that’s different.” Robert was
plainly embarrassed.
</p>
<p>
“Is it?” The three girls laughed again,
enjoying his confusion.
</p>
<p>
“I but voice the objections of the army,”
explained he when their merriment had subsided.
“Of the Congress also, who fear the
effect upon the people, there is so much feeling
anent the Tories.”
</p>
<p>
“Congress!” exclaimed Sally with a scornful
toss of her head. “I should not mind
what Congress said if I were General Arnold.
They wouldn’t even give him his proper rank
until after Saratoga, though His Excellency,
General Washington, did his utmost to make
them. I wouldn’t ask the old Congress anything
anent the matter. So there!”
</p>
<p>
“Hoity-toity, my young lady! Have a
care to your words. Know you not that the
gentlemen of that same Congress are present?
It seems to me that I have heard that some of
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78'></a>78</span>
those same gentlemen are the very men who
are on the board of a certain institution——”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, hush, hush, Mr. Deering,” cried Sally
turning with some excitement to the old gentleman.
“’Tis a secret known to but few.”
</p>
<p>
“Now what did I say?” he demanded as
the others looked at the two in surprise.
“Miss Peggy, won’t you defend me?”
</p>
<p>
“Let him say it over, Sally,” said Peggy
roguishly. “Perhaps we can tell then.”
</p>
<p>
“No, no,” uttered Sally with a questioning
glance at him. “Thee does know,” she
burst forth as she met his twinkling eyes.
“How did thee find it out, Mr. Deering?”
</p>
<p>
“If you will glad an old man by treading
this measure with him, I’ll tell you,” he answered.
“Or perhaps you prefer a younger
squire?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, thee! Thee every time,” cried she,
linking her arm in his.
</p>
<p>
“Won’t you follow them, Peggy?” asked
Robert.
</p>
<p>
“Why, no,” she answered in surprise.
“Thee knows that I am a Quaker, Robert.”
</p>
<p>
“But not now, Peggy,” interposed Betty.
“Since thee has become a Whig, and have
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79'></a>79</span>
been read out of meeting thee is an apostate.
Sally and I both have learned to languish
and glide at the new academy in Third Street.
They are taught there in the politest manner.
Thee must attend.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy looked troubled.
</p>
<p>
“I do not think we should give up everything
of our religion because we are led to
differ from the Society in the matter of politics,”
she said. “At least that is the way
mother looks at it, though I should like to
learn to dance. Oh, dear! I am getting
worldly, I fear. Now, Betty, thee and Robert
run along while I stand here and watch you.
It hath been long since I saw so bright a
scene.”
</p>
<p>
Thus urged, Robert and Betty glided out
upon the floor, and Peggy looked about her.
</p>
<p>
The extravagance of the costumes was beyond
anything hitherto seen in the quiet city
of Penn, and Peggy’s eyes opened wide at the
gorgeous brocades and wide hooped skirts.
But most of all did she marvel at the headdresses
of the ladies. These, built of feathers,
aigrets and ribbands, topped the hair already
piled high upon steel frames and powdered
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80'></a>80</span>
excessively. The air was full of powder from
wig and head-dress. Happy laughter mingled
with the music of the fiddles, and the rustle
of brocades. All made up a scene the luxury
of which stole over the little maid’s senses
and troubled her. Unconsciously she sighed.
</p>
<p>
“Why not treading a measure, my little
maid?” queried General Arnold’s pleasant
voice, and Peggy looked up to find him smiling
down upon her.
</p>
<p>
“I am a Quaker,” she told him simply.
</p>
<p>
“Then mayhap we can console each other;
although I do not refrain from religious
scruples.”
</p>
<p>
“No; thee does it because of thy wound,”
uttered the girl a glow of such intense admiration
coming into her eyes that the general
smiled involuntarily. “Does it pain
thee much, Friend—I should say—General
Arnold?”
</p>
<div><a name='fig083' id='fig083'></a></div>
<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<a name='i003' id='i003'></a>
<img src="images/illus083.jpg" alt="“FRIEND—I SHOULD SAY—GENERAL ARNOLD”" title=""/><br />
<span class='caption'>“FRIEND—I SHOULD SAY—GENERAL ARNOLD”</span>
</div>
<p>
“Nay; call me friend, Miss Peggy. I like
the name, and no man hath too many. At
times I suffer much. At first I was in a very
fever of discontent, ’twas so long in healing.
I chafed under the confinement, for it kept
me from the field. Of late, however, I have
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81'></a>81</span>
come to bear its tardiness in healing with
some degree of patience.”
</p>
<p>
“Mother thinks that as much bravery may
be shown in endurance as in action,” she observed
shyly.
</p>
<p>
“More, more,” he declared. “Action is
putting into execution the resolve of the
moment, and may be spurred by excitement
or peril to deeds of daring. One forgets
everything under its stimulus. But to be
compelled to sit supinely when the liberties
of the country are in danger——Ah! that is
what takes the heart out of a man. It irks
me.”
</p>
<p>
“Thee should not fret,” she said with such
sweet gravity that his worn dark face lighted
up. “Thou hast already given so much for
thy country that ’tis well that thou shouldst
take thy ease for a time. Thee has been very
brave.”
</p>
<p>
“Thank you,” he returned, his pleasure at
her naive admiration being very apparent.
Already there had been detractions whispered
against his administration of the city, and
the genuine appreciation of this little maid
for his military exploits was soothing to him.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82'></a>82</span>
“I know not how our talk hath become so
serious,” he said, “but I am a poor host to
permit it. ’Tis not befitting a scene of pleasure.
Wilt take tea with me, Miss Peggy?”
</p>
<p>
Peggy looked up quickly, thinking she had
not heard aright. What! she, a simple young
girl, to be taken to tea by so great a general!
Mr. Arnold stood courteously awaiting her
assent, and realizing that he had indeed bestowed
the honor upon her, she arose, swept
a profound curtsey, and murmured an almost
inaudible acceptance.
</p>
<p>
There were little gasps of surprise from
Sally and Betty, as she swept by them, but
pride had succeeded to Peggy’s confusion, and
she did not turn her head. Assured that
never again would she be filled with such
felicity Peggy held her head high, and walked
proudly down the great drawing-room by
Benedict Arnold’s side.
</p>
<p>
’Twas customary in Philadelphia for the
mistress of a household to disperse tea to
guests, but the general having no wife pressed
his military attachés into this duty. So
overwhelmed was Peggy with the honor conferred
upon her that she did not notice that
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83'></a>83</span>
her cup was filled again and again by the
obliging servitor. She was recalled to herself,
however, by an audible aside from Sally:
</p>
<p>
“And hath thy general plenty of Bohea
in the house, Robert? ’Tis to be hoped so,
else there will be none for the rest of us.
That is Peggy’s sixth cup, is it not?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, dear!” gasped Peggy flushing scarlet,
and hastily placing her spoon across the top
of her cup, for this was the proper mode of
procedure when one had been served sufficiently.
“I did not know, I did not think—in
fact, the tea was most excellent, and
did beguile me. Nay,” she broke off looking
at him bravely. “’Twas because I was
so beset with pride to think that it was thou
who served me that I forgot my manners.
In truth, the incident is so notable that I
shall never forget it.”
</p>
<p>
“Now, by my life, you should drink all
there is for that speech though no one else
were served,” declared he laughing. “What!
No more? Then we will see to ’t that your
friend hath cause for no further complaint.
Do you read, Miss Peggy?”
</p>
<p>
From a small spindle-legged table that stood
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84'></a>84</span>
near, he selected a book from several which
lay on its polished surface, and handed it
to her.
</p>
<p>
“Pleasure me by accepting this,” he said.
“’Tis Brooke’s ‘Lady Juliet Grenville.’ Most
young ladies like it, and it hath more endurance
than a cup of tea.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, thank thee! Thank thee!” cried
she delightedly. “I have heard much of the
tale, and have longed to read it. I shall
truly treasure it.”
</p>
<p>
“Would that my name were Margaret,”
cried Sally as General Arnold left her with
her friends. “And what did thee do to merit
all this honor, Miss Peggy?”
</p>
<p>
“I know not,” answered Peggy regarding
the book almost with awe. “Oh, girls! hath
he not indeed been kind to me? ’Tis most
wonderful how everything hath happened.
How vastly delightsome town life is! I hope
mother will go to every tea to which we are
asked.”
</p>
<p>
“And has thee had so much excitement that
thee does not care for my secret?” asked
Sally. “’Twas my purpose to declare it at
this time.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85'></a>85</span>
</p>
<p>
“Do tell it, Sally,” pleaded Peggy aroused
by Sally’s earnest tone. “Thee promised.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, yes, Sally,” urged Betty. “Do tell
us.”
</p>
<p>
“Then come close,” said Sally motioning to
Robert and Mr. Deering to draw nearer.
“Know then, all of you, that to-morrow I am
to begin to prepare for being a nurse in the
General Hospital.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Sally!” cried Betty and Peggy in a
chorus.
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” said she, enjoying their surprise.
“Mr. Deering seems to have known it, and
Robert here, but ’tis known to no others. I
have been minded for some time to do something
more than make socks and shirts,
though they are badly needed, too, I hear.”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis just splendid, Sally,” declared Peggy.
“But Betty and I must do something too. It
will never do for thee to be the only one of us
girls to do so well. What shall we do,
Betty?”
</p>
<p>
“I fancy that my hands at least will be
full,” said Betty. “Mother thinks it advisable
for me to take the smallpox as soon as
she can spare me.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86'></a>86</span>
</p>
<p>
“La!” giggled Sally. “How will that
help the country, Betty?”
</p>
<p>
“By preventing it from spreading,” answered
Betty, at which they all laughed.
</p>
<p>
The music struck up at this moment, and
the talk which had threatened to become
serious was interrupted. About eleven a
genteel supper was served, and General
Arnold’s tea had come to an end.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87'></a>87</span><a name='chVII' id='chVII'></a>CHAPTER VII—A SUMMER SOLDIER</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“What,&#160;if&#160;‘mid&#160;the&#160;cannon’s&#160;thunder,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;&#160;Whistling&#160;shot&#160;and&#160;bursting&#160;bomb,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>When&#160;my&#160;brothers&#160;fall&#160;around&#160;me,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;&#160;Should&#160;my&#160;heart&#160;grow&#160;cold&#160;and&#160;numb?”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;But&#160;the&#160;drum</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;Answered&#160;“Come!</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Better&#160;there&#160;in&#160;death&#160;united&#160;than&#160;in&#160;life&#160;a&#160;recreant—come!”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—“The&#160;Reveille,”&#160;<i>Bret&#160;Harte</i>.</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
“Mother, what did thee think of the tea?”
asked Peggy of Mrs. Owen the next morning.
</p>
<p>
Lowry Owen laid down her sewing and
turned toward her daughter gravely:
</p>
<p>
“’Twas an enjoyable occasion in many
respects, my daughter. ’Twas most pleasant
to meet with old friends, but——”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, mother?” questioned the maiden as
the lady hesitated.
</p>
<p>
“There was so much of extravagance and
expenditure in the costumes and even in the
entertainment that I fear we cannot indulge
often in such pleasures. Mr. Arnold”—calling
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88'></a>88</span>
him after the London manner, a
fashion much in vogue at this time in the
colonies—“must be a man of great wealth to
afford such hospitality. I understand that
’tis extended often to his friends, and ’tis
expected to some extent from a man in his
position. But we are not wealthy now, my
child, and I wish not to be drawn into a
manner of life beyond our means.”
</p>
<p>
“I know, mother,” answered the girl
soberly. “Last night I was carried away by
the enjoyment of it all, and methought I
would like naught else than teas, and routs
and parties all the time. Didst think thy
daughter could be so foolish?”
</p>
<p>
“’Twas very plain to be seen, my child,”
said the lady with a smile. “And with thy
father and others in the field it seems to me
that thou and I may be employed to better
purpose, Peggy? What does thee say? Shall
we give up assemblies, tea drinkings and
finery to patriotism, or wouldst thou
rather——”
</p>
<p>
“Mother, thee knows that when ’tis a
choice between such things and the country
they must go,” cried Peggy warmly.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89'></a>89</span>
</p>
<p>
“I knew that I could count on thy cooperation,”
observed Mrs. Owen quietly.
“Thou shalt have thy young friends, Peggy,
and shall share their pleasures, but we will
have no more of public parade and ostentation.
I like it not. ’Tis not befitting the
wives and daughters of soldiers to indulge in
such pastimes. And we shall be busy, Peggy.
We must spin and weave.”
</p>
<p>
“I do not mind the work, mother. Sally
is to be a nurse, and I would not be happy
could I not do something too.”
</p>
<p>
And so the spinning-wheel was brought
from the attic, and given a prominent place
in the living-room. The loom was set up in
the large kitchen, and from early morn until
eight at night the girl spent the long hours
of the day spinning and weaving. Other
Whig women also, dismayed by the spirit of
frivolity and extravagance that was rife in
the city, followed their example, and the hum
of the wheel and burr of the loom were heard
in every household.
</p>
<p>
“Thou hast been spinning since five of the
clock this morning, Peggy,” remonstrated
Mrs. Owen one afternoon. “Is thee not
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90'></a>90</span>
tired? How many skeins hast thou spun to-day?”
</p>
<p>
“I have lost count, mother,” laughed Peggy.
“It behooves me to be thrifty, else there will
be no yarn to knit. And such heaps and
heaps of unspun wool as there are! ’Tis no
time to be weary.”
</p>
<p>
“But thee must not overdo in the beginning.
There is also much unhatcheled flax
to be made into thread for cloth, and if thee
is too wearied from the spinning of the wool
thou wilt not be able to undertake it. So
stop now, and take a run through the
garden.”
</p>
<p>
“Just as soon as I finish this skein,
mother.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy’s light foot on the treadle went
swifter and swifter, and for a time no sound
was heard in the living-room save the hum
of the wheel. Presently the spindle uttered
an angry snarl, and the thread snapped short
in her fingers.
</p>
<p>
“There!” she cried merrily, unraveling
the knot dexterously. “Had I but heeded
thy advice, mother, this mishap would not
have occurred. The moral is that a maid
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91'></a>91</span>
should always obey her mother. I tried to
outdo my stint of yesterday, and by so doing
have come to grief. Now if thee will hold
the skeins I will wind the yarn of to-day’s
spinning ready for knitting.”
</p>
<p>
So saying she uprose from the wheel and
took a snowy skein from the reel on the table,
and adjusted it upon her mother’s outstretched
hands.
</p>
<p>
“Sukey and I could do this after supper,
Peggy,” expostulated the matron. “I like
not to have thee confined too closely to work,
albeit I would not have thee idle.”
</p>
<p>
“Mother, thee knows that thee likes to
have me excel in housewifery, and how can I
do so unless I practice the art? I cannot
become notable save by doing, can I?” questioned
the maiden archly, her slim figure
looking very graceful as she stood winding
the yarn with nimble fingers. “I shall take
the air when I have finished winding this
ball, if it will please thee; though”—and a
shadow dimmed the brightness of her face—“I
like not to go out in the grounds since
Star hath gone. How strange it is that something
should happen to both the pets that
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92'></a>92</span>
father gave me! Pilot, my dog, was shot,
and now my pony is stolen. Dost think I
will ever hear of her, mother?”
</p>
<p>
“It hath been some time since thou didst
advertise, Peggy, hath it not?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, mother. Three long se’nnights.”
</p>
<p>
“And in all that time there hath come no
word or sign of her.” The lady hesitated a
moment, and then continued: “Dear child,
I fear that thou wilt see no more of thy
pretty horse. But take comfort in the
thought that though the gift hath been taken
from thee the giver hath not. David is well,
and in good spirits. That is much to be
thankful for, Peggy.”
</p>
<p>
“It is, mother. Dear father! would he
were home for all time.”
</p>
<p>
Without further remonstrance Peggy went
out under the trees. A slight chill was in
the air, for it was drawing toward evening.
Summer’s spell was released, and the sere decadence
of the year was sweetly and sadly
going on. Up and down the neglected alleys
of the garden she strolled, pausing ever and
anon to admire the scarlet fire of the late
poppies. Almost unconsciously her feet
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93'></a>93</span>
turned in the direction of the stable, a place
to which she made daily pilgrimages since
the loss of her pet. As she drew near the
building the unmistakable sound of a low
whinny broke upon the air. A startled look
swept across the girl’s face, and she stopped
short in astonishment.
</p>
<p>
“That sounded like Star,” she exclaimed.
“Mother was right in thinking that I needed
the air. I must not sit so long again at the
wheel. I——”
</p>
<p>
But another and louder whinny broke upon
her ear, and full of excitement Peggy flung
wide the door, and darted within.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Star! Star!” she cried throwing her
arms about the pony’s neck, for the mare was
really standing in her stall. “Where did
thee come from? Who brought thee? And
where hast thou been?”
</p>
<p>
But the little mare could only whinny her
delight, and rub her soft nose against her
mistress’s sleeve.
</p>
<p>
“Thou dear thing!” cried the girl rapturously.
“Is thee glad to get back? Does
thee want some sugar? Oh, how did thee
get here? Thee doesn’t look as though thee
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94'></a>94</span>
had had much to eat. Poor thing! Couldn’t
they even groom thee?”
</p>
<p>
“Mistress!”
</p>
<p>
Peggy turned around abruptly, and there
stood the same young fellow who had mended
her saddle when she and her mother were
waiting on the Germantown road. He was
more ragged than ever, and thinner too, if
that were possible. He still wore his air of
jaunty assurance, however, and returned her
astonished gaze with a glance of amusement.
</p>
<p>
“Thou?” breathed Peggy. “And what
does thee want?”
</p>
<p>
“Naught, but to return thy horse,” he answered.
</p>
<p>
“Oh! did thee find her?” cried the girl in
pleased tones. “How good of thee to bring
her to me! Where did thee find her? And
the thief? What did thee do with him?”
</p>
<p>
“The thief? Oh, I brought him too,” he
said coolly.
</p>
<p>
“But where is he?” she demanded looking
around. “I do not see him.”
</p>
<p>
“Here,” he said sweeping her an elaborate
bow.
</p>
<p>
“Thee?” Peggy recoiled involuntarily as
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95'></a>95</span>
the lad spoke. “Oh, how could thee do it?
How could thee?” she burst forth.
</p>
<p>
“I couldn’t. That’s why I brought her
back. I don’t steal from a girl.”
</p>
<p>
“But why did thee keep her so long?” she
asked, mollified somewhat by this speech.
</p>
<p>
“I wanted to see my people,” he answered.
</p>
<p>
“And did thee?” she queried, her tender
heart stirred by this.
</p>
<p>
“No; they had moved, or something had
happened. They weren’t there any more.”
He spoke wearily and with some bitterness.
“I’d have sold that horse if I hadn’t kept
thinking how fond you were of her.”
</p>
<p>
“And did thee know that I had offered a
reward for her, friend?”
</p>
<p>
“Why, of course I knew,” he replied.
“Now as I am entitled to the money for both
the horse and thief, suppose you bring it out
to me.”
</p>
<p>
“But my pony,” objected Peggy. “How
do I know that thee will not take her
again?”
</p>
<p>
“Your horse?” he questioned angrily.
“Don’t fear! Don’t you suppose that if I
had wanted to keep her I’d have done it?
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96'></a>96</span>
Now if you are going to give me the money,
do it. Then feed your mare. She hasn’t had
much more than I have. Don’t be afraid of
me, but hurry. I can’t stay around here any
longer.”
</p>
<p>
“I am not afraid, friend,” responded Peggy
her hesitation vanishing. “I was just thinking
that thee looked hungry. Come to the
house, and eat something. Then thou shalt
have thy money, though I know not what
my mother will say to that part of it. But
thee should eat anyway. Come!”
</p>
<p>
“I will not,” he cried. “I will not.
Someone might see me and arrest me.”
</p>
<p>
“But if mother and I do not wish to prosecute
’tis not the concern of any,” she told
him mildly. “Now that I have Star, I
would not wish to be severe, and thou didst
bring her back. Mother will feel the same
way.”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis not that,” he cried sharply. “Don’t
you understand? I have run away from the
army, and I don’t want to be caught. I have
been advertised, as well as your horse.”
</p>
<p>
“And so thee could not steal from a girl,
but thee can desert thy country in her fight
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97'></a>97</span>
for liberty,” said Peggy, her eyes blazing with
scorn. “I had rather a thousand times that
thou hadst taken Star; that thou couldst find
it in thy heart to steal, though that were
monstrous sinful, than that thou should stand
there, and declare thyself a deserter. Why,
thou art worse than a thief! Thou hast committed
robbery twice over; for thou hast
robbed thyself of honor, and despoiled thy
country of a man.”
</p>
<p>
“But”—he began, amazed at her feeling—“you
do not know. You do not understand.
I——”
</p>
<p>
“No,” blazed the girl. “I do not know.
I do not want to know how a man can be a
summer soldier, as Mr. Thomas Paine calls
them. A sunshine patriot who rallies to his
country’s side in fair weather, but who deserts
her when she needs men. A deserter!
Oh!” her voice thrilling, “how can thee be
such a thing?”
</p>
<p>
“It’s—it’s all up,” he said leaning against
the door white and shaken. “I’m done
for!” And he fell limply to the floor.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98'></a>98</span><a name='chVIII' id='chVIII'></a>CHAPTER VIII—PEGGY’S RESOLVE</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“Stand!&#160;the&#160;ground’s&#160;your&#160;own,&#160;my&#160;braves!</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Will&#160;ye&#160;give&#160;it&#160;up&#160;to&#160;slaves?</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Will&#160;ye&#160;to&#160;your&#160;homes&#160;retire?</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Look&#160;behind&#160;you!&#160;They’re&#160;afire!</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;&#160;And,&#160;before&#160;you,&#160;see</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Who&#160;have&#160;done&#160;it!—From&#160;the&#160;vale</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>On&#160;they&#160;come!—And&#160;will&#160;ye&#160;quail?”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>John&#160;Pierpont</i>.</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
In an instant Peggy was out of the stable
and running to the house.
</p>
<p>
“Mother,” she cried bursting in upon Mrs.
Owen so suddenly that the lady started up in
alarm, “the lad that mended my saddle is in
the stable. He hath brought Star back, and
I fear he hath fainted. Come quickly!”
</p>
<p>
“Fainted?” exclaimed the lady rising hastily.
“And Star back? Tell Sukey to follow
with Tom, Peggy.”
</p>
<p>
Seizing a bottle of cologne and a vinaigrette
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99'></a>99</span>
she went quickly to the barn followed by
Peggy and the two curious servants.
</p>
<p>
“’Tis lack of nourishing food more than
aught else that ails him,” was Mrs. Owen’s
comment as she laved the youth’s forehead
with vinegar, and bade Sukey burn some
feathers under his nose. “Peggy, get the
guest-chamber in readiness. We will carry
him in as soon as he hath regained his consciousness.”
</p>
<p>
The girl hastened to do her bidding, and
presently the lad, by this time recovered from
his swoon, was put to bed, and the household
all a bustle with preparing gruel and delicacies.
Shortly after partaking of food, he
gave a sigh of content and fell into a deep
sleep. And then Peggy turned to her
mother.
</p>
<p>
“Are we to keep him?” she queried.
</p>
<p>
“Surely, my daughter. Why dost thou
ask? The lad is not strong enough to depart
now. There is naught else to be done.”
</p>
<p>
“But he is in truth a deserter, mother.”
</p>
<p>
“I surmised as much, as thee remembers,”
observed Mrs. Owen quietly.
</p>
<p>
“And a thief,” continued the maiden with
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100'></a>100</span>
some warmth. “Mother, he acknowledged
that ’twas he who stole Star.”
</p>
<p>
“And it was also he who brought her
back,” reminded her mother.
</p>
<p>
“But to desert,” exclaimed Peggy a fine
scorn leaping into her eyes. “To leave when
his country hath such need of him!”
</p>
<p>
“True, Peggy; but the flesh is weak, and
when subjected to the pangs of hunger ’tis
prone to revolt. Our soldiers are so illy cared
for that the wonder is that more do not
forsake the army.”
</p>
<p>
“Mother, thee does not excuse it, does
thee?” cried Peggy in so much consternation
that Mrs. Owen smiled.
</p>
<p>
“Nay, Peggy. I only suspend judgment
until I know all the circumstances. Did he
tell thee aught of his reasons for deserting?”
</p>
<p>
“I fear,” answered Peggy shamefacedly,
“that I gave him no opportunity. In fact,
mother, I discovered some warmth in speaking
anent the matter.”
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Owen smiled. Well she knew that in
her zeal for the country Peggy was apt to
“discover warmth.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101'></a>101</span>
</p>
<p>
“Then,” she said, “we will bring naught
into question until he hath his strength. Yon
lad is in no condition for fighting or aught
else at the present time.”
</p>
<p>
“But once he hath his strength,” broke in
the girl eagerly, “would it be amiss to reason
with him?”
</p>
<p>
“Once he hath his strength I will say
nothing,” answered the lady, her mouth twitching.
“Thou mayst reason with him then to
thy heart’s content.”
</p>
<p>
And so it came about that the young deserter
was attended with great care, and none
was so assiduous in attention to his comfort
as Peggy. For several days he did little
but receive food and sleep. This soon passed,
however, and he was up and about, though
he still kept to his chamber both as a matter
of precaution and as though enjoying to the
full the creature comforts by which he was
surrounded.
</p>
<p>
“Friend,” remarked Peggy one day after
she had arranged his dinner daintily upon a
table drawn up by the settle upon which he
was lying, “thee has not told thy name yet.”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis Drayton. John Drayton,” he
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102'></a>102</span>
returned an apprehensive look flashing across
his face. “You would not—would you?—betray
me?”
</p>
<p>
“I did not ask for that purpose,” she replied
indignantly. “Had we wished to
denounce thee we would have done so long
since. Why shouldst thou think such a
thing?”
</p>
<p>
“I cry you pardon,” he said with something
of his old jauntiness. “I have heard
that a guilty conscience doth make cowards
of us all. ’Tis so in my case. In truth I
should not tarry here, but——”
</p>
<p>
“Thee is welcome to stay until thy strength
is fully restored, friend,” she said. “My
mother and I are agreed as to that. And
then——”
</p>
<p>
“Well? And then?” he questioned sharply
turning upon her.
</p>
<p>
“Friend, why did thee desert?” asked she
abruptly.
</p>
<p>
“Why? Because the thought of another
winter took all the spirit out of me. Because
I am tired of being hungry and cold; because
I am tired of being ragged and dirty.
I am tired of it all: the long hard marches
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103'></a>103</span>
with insufficient clothing to cover me by day,
and no blanket but the snow at night. I
made the march to Quebec through all the
perils of the wilderness. Through sleet and
driving snow it hath always been my fortune
to serve. Last winter I spent among the
dreary hills of Valley Forge, enduring all
the miseries of that awful time. And then,
after all that, for three such years of service
what does an ungrateful country bestow upon
me? The rank of ensign.” And he laughed
bitterly. “But every foreign adventurer that
comes whining to Congress may have the
highest commission that is in their power to
bestow. And what do they care for us who
have borne the burden? Why, nothing but
to let us starve.”
</p>
<p>
“True,” said Peggy troubled. “True,
Friend Drayton, and yet——”
</p>
<p>
“And yet when we have given so much to
an ungrateful country if we desert we are
hounded like dogs, or runaway slaves,” he
continued passionately. “And you, Mistress
Peggy, who have known neither hunger nor
cold, nor what it is to be in battle, stand there
accusingly because I, forsooth, who have
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104'></a>104</span>
known all these things have tired of them.
A summer soldier, you called me. A winter
soldier would have been the better term.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy’s face flushed.
</p>
<p>
“Now,” he continued, “I am seeking to
follow the precepts of the great Declaration
which doth teach that every man hath the
right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness
after his own fashion.”
</p>
<p>
“Still,” remarked the girl, who was plainly
puzzled by his reasoning, “if the British
should succeed in defeating us what would
become of the Declaration? Methinks that
’twould be the part of wisdom not to accord
thy life by such precepts until they were
definitely established.”
</p>
<p>
“You are pleased to be sharp, mistress,”
he said pushing back from the table. “I—I
am in no condition to argue with you. I
am weak,” he added reclining once more
upon the settle.
</p>
<p>
Peggy made no reply, and silently removed
the dishes. A sparkle came into her eye as
she noted their empty condition.
</p>
<p>
“Mother,” she said as she entered the
kitchen where that lady was, “does thee not
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105'></a>105</span>
think that our friend is able now to stand
being reasoned with? He said but now that
he was still weak.”
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Owen laughed quietly as she saw that
nothing had been left of the meal.
</p>
<p>
“’Tis but natural that he should feel so,
Peggy,” she said. “When one hath been
without food and a proper place to sleep the
senses become sharpened to the enjoyment of
such things, and he but seeks to prolong
his delight in them. Be not too hard on the
lad, my child.”
</p>
<p>
“But would it harm him, mother, to reason
with him?” persisted Peggy. “If he can
eat so, can he not be brought to see the error
of his ways? I would not injure him for the
world.”
</p>
<p>
“Set thy mind at rest upon that point,
Peggy. Naught that thou canst say to him
can work him injury. Hath our friend told
thee why he deserted?”
</p>
<p>
“He feared another winter,” answered
Peggy. “And perhaps he hath cause to; for
he hath been through the march to Quebec
under General Arnold, and last winter he
spent at Valley Forge. And so he ran away
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106'></a>106</span>
to keep from passing another such season in
the army.”
</p>
<p>
“Poor lad!” sighed the lady. “’Tis no
wonder that he deserted. Yet those who
endure such hardships for so long rarely
desert. ’Tis but a passing weakness. Let us
hope that he will return when he is well
enough. He is of too good a mettle to be
lost.”
</p>
<p>
“I mean him to go back,” announced Peggy
resolutely.
</p>
<p>
“Peggy, what is worrying thy brain?” exclaimed
her mother. “Child, let me look at
thee.”
</p>
<p>
“Leave him to me, mother,” cried the girl,
her eyes shining like stars. “He shall yet
be something other than a summer soldier.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107'></a>107</span><a name='chIX' id='chIX'></a>CHAPTER IX—THE TALE OF A HERO</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“Paradise&#160;is&#160;under&#160;the&#160;shadow&#160;of&#160;swords.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>Mahomet</i>.</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
“Thee must excuse me, Friend John. I
am late with thy dinner because General
Arnold dined with us, and we sat long at
table,” explained Peggy the next day as she
entered the room where Drayton sat.
</p>
<p>
“Arnold?” cried the young fellow, starting
up. “Was General Arnold here? Here?
Under this very roof? Could I get a glimpse
of him?”
</p>
<p>
He ran to the front window as he spoke
and threw it open. Now this window faced
upon Chestnut Street, and there was danger of
being seen, so Peggy ran to him in great perturbation.
</p>
<p>
“Come back,” she cried in alarm. “Some
one might see thee. He hath gone. Thou
canst not see him. Dost forget that if any
see thee thou mayst be taken?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108'></a>108</span>
</p>
<p>
“I had forgot,” said Drayton, drawing back
into the room. “You did not speak of me?”
he asked quickly, with some excitement.
</p>
<p>
“Nay; calm thyself. We spoke naught of
thee to him, nor to any. Have I not said we
would not? Was thee not under the general
during the march into Canada?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes; but he was a colonel then. Hath
his wound healed yet? Last spring at Valley
Forge he was still on crutches. Is he still
crippled?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, he is still lame. He uses the crutches
when he hath not one of his soldier’s arms to
lean upon.”
</p>
<p>
“Would that he had mine to lean upon,”
cried Drayton, with such feeling that Peggy
was surprised.
</p>
<p>
“Why? Does thee think so much of
him?” she asked.
</p>
<p>
“I’d die for him,” uttered the lad earnestly.
“There isn’t one of us that was on that march
to Quebec under him who wouldn’t.”
</p>
<p>
“Suppose thee tells me about it,” suggested
Peggy. “I have heard something of the
happenings of that time, but not fully. The
city rings with his prowess and gallant deeds.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109'></a>109</span>
’Tis said that he is generous and kind as well
as brave.”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis said rightly, Mistress Peggy. Doth
he not care for the orphans of Joseph Warren
who fell at Bunker Hill? In that awful
march was there ever a kinder or more humane
leader? No tongue can tell the sufferings
and privations we endured on that march
through the wilderness, but there was no
murmuring. We knew that he was doing the
best that could be done, and that if ever man
could take us through that man was Benedict
Arnold. I cannot describe what hardships
we endured, but as we approached the St.
Lawrence River I became so ill that I could
no longer march. Utterly exhausted, I sank
down on a log, and watched the troops pass
by me. In the rear came Colonel Arnold on
horseback. Seeing me sitting there, pale and
dejected, he dismounted and came over to me.
</p>
<p>
“‘And what is it, my boy?’ he asked.
’I—I’m sick,’ I blubbered, and burst out
crying.
</p>
<p>
“He didn’t say a word for a minute, and
then he turned and ran down to the river
bank, and halloed to a house which stood
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110'></a>110</span>
near. The owner came quickly, and Colonel
Arnold gave him silver money to look after
me until I should get well. Then with his
own hands he helped me into the boat, gave
me some money also, and said that I must not
think of joining them until I was quite strong.
Oh!” cried Drayton huskily, “he was always
like that. Always doing something for us to
make it easier.”
</p>
<p>
“And did thee join him again?” questioned
Peggy, her voice not quite steady.
She had heard of the love that soldiers often
have for their leaders, but she had not come
in touch with it before.
</p>
<p>
“Ay! who could forsake a commander like
that? As soon as I was able I followed after
them with all speed. In November we stood
at last on the Plains of Abraham before
Quebec. We were eager to attack the city at
once, but Sir Guy Carleton arrived with reinforcements,
and we could not hope to take
the city until we too were reinforced. Finally
we were joined by General Montgomery and
three hundred men, and the two leaders made
ready to assault the town.
</p>
<p>
“On the last day of the year, in the midst
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111'></a>111</span>
of a driving snow-storm we started. It was
so dark and stormy that in order that we
might recognize each other each soldier wore
a white band of paper on his cap on which
was written—Liberty or Death!
</p>
<p>
“General Montgomery was to attack the
lower town by way of Cape Diamond on the
river, while Colonel Arnold was to assault the
northern part. The storm raged furiously,
but we reached the Palace Gate in spite of it.
The alarm was ringing from all the bells in
the city, drums were beating, and the artillery
opened upon us. With Colonel Arnold
at our front we ran along in single file, bending
our heads to avoid the storm, and holding
our guns under cover of our coats to keep our
powder dry.
</p>
<p>
“The first barrier was at Sault au Matelot,
and here we found ourselves in a narrow way,
swept by a battery, with soldiers firing upon
us from the houses on each side of the passage.
But Arnold was not daunted. He
called out, ‘Come on, boys!’ and we rushed
on. ’Twas always that. He never said, ‘Go,
boys!’ like some of the officers. ’Twas always
‘Come on, boys!’ and there he’d be at
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112'></a>112</span>
our head. I tell you a braver man never
lived.
</p>
<p>
“Well, as he rushed on cheering us to the
assault, he was struck by a musket ball just
at the moment of the capture of the barrier.
His leg was broken, and he fell upon the
snow. Then, can you believe it, he got up
somehow, though he could only use one leg,
and endeavored to press forward. Two of us
dropped our muskets, and ran to him, but he
refused to leave the field until the main body
of the troops came up. He stood there leaning
on us for support, and calling to the
troops in a cheering voice as they passed, urging
them onward. When at last he consented
to be taken from the field his steps could be
traced by the blood which flowed from the
wound.”
</p>
<p>
“Was it the same one that was hurt at
Saratoga?” queried Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“The very same. And no sooner was he
recovered than he was in action again. Although
the attack on the city was a failure he
would not give up the idea of its capture. I
believe that had not General Montgomery
fallen it would have succeeded.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113'></a>113</span>
</p>
<p>
“’Twas at Quebec that William McPherson
fell,” mused Peggy. “He was the first one
of our soldiers to fall. Philadelphia is proud
of his renown. But oh, he was so young,
and so full of patriotic zeal and devotion to
the cause of liberty!”
</p>
<p>
“Every one was full of it then,” observed
Drayton sadly. “When we were on the
Plains of Abraham before the battlements of
the lofty town, think you that no thought
came to us of how Wolfe, the victorious
Wolfe, scaled those rocks and forced the
barred gates of the city? I tell you that
there was not one of us whose heart did not
feel kinship with that hero. His memory inspired
us. His very presence seemed to pervade
the field, and we knew that our leaders
were animated by the memory of his victory.”
</p>
<p>
“Thou hast felt like that, and yet thou
hast deserted?” exclaimed the girl involuntarily.
</p>
<p>
A deep flush dyed the young fellow’s face.
He sat very still for a moment and then answered
with passion:
</p>
<p>
“Have I not given all that is necessary?
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114'></a>114</span>
And I have suffered, Mistress Peggy. I have
suffered that which is worse than death.
Why, death upon the battle-field is glorious!
I do not fear it. But ’tis the long winters;
the cold, sleepless nights, huddling in scanty
wisps of straw, or over a low fire for warmth;
the going without food, or having but enough
to merely keep life within one. This it is
that takes the heart out of a man. I’ll bear
it no more.”
</p>
<p>
Two great tears forced themselves from
Peggy’s eyes, and coursed down her cheeks.
“Thee has borne so much,” she uttered chokingly.
“So much, Friend John, that I
wonder thee has lived to tell it. And having
borne so much ’tis dreadful to ask more of
thee, and yet to have thee fail—fail just at
the very last! To dim such an honorable record!
To blot out all that thou hast endured
by desertion! Oh, how could thee? How
could thee? Could thee not endure a little
more?”
</p>
<p>
Drayton stirred restlessly.
</p>
<p>
“They haven’t treated me well,” he blurted
out. “I wanted to be in the Select Corps,
and they wouldn’t put me there. And I
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115'></a>115</span>
merited it, Mistress Peggy. I tell you I
merited it.”
</p>
<p>
“What is the Select Corps, John?” asked
the girl curiously.
</p>
<p>
“’Tis a body of soldiers made up of picked
men from the whole army,” he returned.
“They are always in advance, and lead every
charge in an active campaign. I wanted to
be there, and they wouldn’t put me in.”
</p>
<p>
“But,” persisted Peggy speaking in a low
tone, “does thee think that thy general would
desert as thee has done just because he was
not treated well? Thee knows that ’tis only
of late that Congress would give him his
proper rank.”
</p>
<p>
“He desert!” The boy’s sullen eyes
lighted up again at the mere mention of his
hero, and he laughed. “Why, I verily believe
that General Arnold would fight if
everybody else in America stopped fighting.
Why, at Saratoga when General Gates deprived
him of his command, and ordered him
to stay in his tent, he would not. When we
boys heard what had been done, we were
afraid he would leave us, and so we got up a
petition asking him to wait until after the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116'></a>116</span>
battle. And, though he was smarting from
humiliation, he promised that he’d stay with
us. But Gates told him not to leave the tent,
and ordered us forward. We went, but our
hearts were heavy to be without him.
</p>
<p>
“At the first sound of battle, however, he
rushed from the tent, threw himself on his
horse, and dashed to where we were, crying,
‘No man shall keep me in my tent this day.
If I am without command, I will fight in the
ranks; but the soldiers, God bless them, will
follow my lead.’
</p>
<p>
“How we cheered when we saw him coming!
Brandishing his broad-sword above his
head, he dashed into the thickest of the fight,
calling the old, ‘Come on, boys! Victory or
death!’ and the regiments followed him like
a whirlwind. The conflict was terrible, but
in the midst of flame and smoke, and metal
hail, he was everywhere. His voice rang out
like a trumpet, animating and inspiring us to
valor. He led us to victory, but just as the
Hessians, terrified by his approach, turned to
flee, they delivered a volley in their retreat
that shot his horse from under him. At the
same instant a wounded German private fired
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117'></a>117</span>
a shot which struck him in that same leg that
had been so badly lacerated at Quebec, two
years before.
</p>
<p>
“As he fell he cried out to us, ‘Rush on,
my brave boys, rush on!’ But one, in fury
at seeing the general wounded, dashed at the
wounded German, and would have run him
through with his bayonet had not the general
cried: ‘Don’t hurt him, he but did his duty.
He is a fine fellow.’”
</p>
<p>
“I don’t wonder that thee loves him,” cried
Peggy, her eyes sparkling at the recital. “I
believe with thee that though all others
should fail he would fight the enemy even
though he would fight alone. Oh, I must
get thee to tell mother this! I knew not
that he was so brave!”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” reiterated Master Drayton positively.
“He would fight even though he
fought alone. But I am not made of such
stuff. I am no hero, Mistress Peggy. Beside,
have not the Parley-voos come over to fight
for us? They have all the honors given them;
let them have the miseries too.”
</p>
<p>
“But why should the French fight our
battles for us?” demanded the girl bluntly.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118'></a>118</span>
“They are only to help us. Why should they
exert themselves to save that which we do
not value enough to fight for?”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis expected by the army, anyway,” said
Drayton. “I know that I’ll do no more.”
</p>
<p>
“Thee is a poor tired lad,” said the girl
gently. “And thy dinner. See how little
thou hast eaten. I have talked too long with
thee to-day. Later we will renew the subject.”
</p>
<p>
“Renew it an you will,” retorted the boy
assuming again his jaunty manner, half defiance,
half swagger. “’Twill make no difference.
I have served my last. Unless the
recruiting officer finds me you won’t catch
me in the army again.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy smiled a knowing little smile, but
made no answer.
</p>
<p>
“We shall see,” she thought as she left the
room. “Methinks thee has some martial
spirit left, Friend John.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119'></a>119</span><a name='chX' id='chX'></a>CHAPTER X—PEGGY TEACHES A LESSON</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“Rise&#160;then,&#160;my&#160;countrymen!&#160;for&#160;fight&#160;prepare,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Gird&#160;on&#160;your&#160;swords,&#160;and&#160;fearless&#160;rush&#160;to&#160;war!</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>For&#160;your&#160;grieved&#160;country&#160;nobly&#160;dare&#160;to&#160;die,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>And&#160;empty&#160;all&#160;your&#160;veins&#160;for&#160;liberty.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>Jonathan&#160;Mitchell&#160;Sewall</i>.</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
It was several days before Peggy could
have another talk with Master Drayton, but
meantime she set up the needles and began
to knit vigorously on stockings, spun into
thread more of the flax, and put Sukey to
work weaving it into cloth.
</p>
<p>
“Peggy, what is thee so busy about?”
asked Mrs. Owen, coming into the kitchen
where the girl had been at work since the
dawn.
</p>
<p>
Peggy looked up from the dye kettle with
a puzzled look on her face, and gave an extra
poke at the cloth reposing therein by way of
emphasis.
</p>
<p>
“I am trying to dye some cloth, mother,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120'></a>120</span>
but it doesn’t seem to come right. What shall
be done to indigo to get a pretty blue? I had
no trouble with the yellow dye. See how
beautifully this piece came out. Such a
soft fine buff! I am pleased with it—but
this——”
</p>
<p>
She paused and turned inquiringly toward
her mother. Mrs. Owen took the stick from
her hand, and held up a piece of cloth from
the steaming kettle, examining it critically.
</p>
<p>
“Fix another kettle of water, Peggy,” she
said, “and let it be near to boiling. Into it
put some salts of tin, alum and cream of tartar.
It needs brightening, and will come a pretty
blue when washed in the solution. There!
Punch each part of the cloth down into the
water, child, so that it may be thoroughly
wetted. So! Now rinse well, and hang it
out to dry. That done thou shalt tell me
for what purpose thou hast dyed the cloth
such especial colors. Thy father hath no
need of a new uniform.”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis for Friend John,” said Peggy dabbling
the cloth vigorously up and down in the
rinsing water.
</p>
<p>
“Why! hath he expressed a wish to return?” exclaimed
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121'></a>121</span>
Mrs. Owen in amazement.
“I had heard naught of it.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy laughed.
</p>
<p>
“Not yet, mother,” she cried, her eyes
dancing with mirth. “But I see signs. Oh,
I see signs. This must be ready anent the
time he does wish to go. This, with socks,
and weapons, and aught else he may need.”
</p>
<p>
“Hast thou been reasoning with him,
Peggy, that thee feels so sure?”
</p>
<p>
“A little,” admitted the girl. “This afternoon,
if none comes to interrupt, I shall do
more. Mother, what would I do without
thee? Thee did just the right thing to bring
this cloth to the proper color. Is it not beautiful?
Would I could do so well.”
</p>
<p>
“’Twill come in time, my daughter. Skill
in dyeing as in aught else comes only from
practice. But here is Sukey to tell us of
visitors. Wash thy hands and join us, Peggy.
If ’tis Sally Bache I make no doubt but that
there is news from Dr. Franklin.”
</p>
<p>
’Twas customary at this time to pay morning
visits in Philadelphia, and several came, one
after another, so that by the time she had
finished her interrupted tasks Peggy found
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122'></a>122</span>
the afternoon well on toward its close before
she could pay her usual visit to Master Drayton.
She found him awaiting her coming
with eagerness.
</p>
<p>
“’Tis good to be sheltered and fed,” he said
as the maiden entered the room, “but none
the less ’tis monstrous tiresome to be cooped
up. What shall be done to amuse me,
Mistress Peggy?”
</p>
<p>
“Would thee like to have me read to
thee?” she asked, a gleam of mischief coming
into her eyes.
</p>
<p>
“The very thing,” he cried, seating himself
comfortably on the settle. “Is it a tale?
Or perchance you have brought a verse
book?”
</p>
<p>
“Neither,” she answered. “Art sure that
thou art comfortable, Friend John? Does
thee need anything at all?”
</p>
<p>
“Nothing at all,” he replied pleased at her
solicitude. “And now for the reading. I am
curious to see what you have chosen, for I see
that you have brought something with
you.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” she responded, producing a pamphlet.
“’Tis just a little something from a writer
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123'></a>123</span>
who calls himself, ‘Common Sense.’” Before
he had time to expostulate she began hurriedly:
</p>
<p>
“‘These are the times that try men’s souls.
The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot
will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of
his country; but he that stands it now, deserves
the love and thanks of men and women.
We have this consolation with us, that the
harder the conflict, the more glorious the
triumph.’”
</p>
<p>
“Now see here,” broke in the youth in an
injured tone sitting bolt upright. “That’s
mean! Downright mean, I say, to take advantage
of a fellow like that. If you want
to begin again on that summer soldier business,
why say so right out.”
</p>
<p>
“Does thee object very seriously, John, to
listening?” queried the maiden mildly. “I
would like to read thee the article.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, go ahead! I guess I can stand it.”
Drayton set his lips together grimly, and
half turned from her.
</p>
<p>
Peggy waited for no further permission.
The pamphlet was one of the most powerful
written by Thomas Paine, and, as he passed
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124'></a>124</span>
from paragraph to paragraph of the tremendous
harangue, he touched with unfailing
skill, with matchless power, the springs of
anxiety, contempt, love of home, love of
country, fortitude, cool deliberation and passionate
resolve. Drayton listened for a time
in silence, with a sullen and injured air.
Slowly he turned toward the reader as though
compelled against his will, and presently he
sprang to his feet with something like a sob.
</p>
<p>
“In pity, cease,” he cried. “Hast no compassion
for a man?”
</p>
<div><a name='fig129' id='fig129'></a></div>
<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<a name='i004' id='i004'></a>
<img src="images/illus129.jpg" alt="SLOWLY HE TURNED TOWARD THE READER" title=""/><br />
<span class='caption'>SLOWLY HE TURNED TOWARD THE READER</span>
</div>
<p>
But Peggy knew that now was the time to
drive the lesson home, so steeling her heart
to pity, she continued the pamphlet, closing
with the peroration which was such a battle
call as might almost startle slain patriots
from their graves:
</p>
<p>
“‘Up and help us; lay your shoulders to
the wheel; better have too much force than
too little, when so great an object is at stake.
Let it be told to the future world, that in
the depth of winter, when nothing but hope
and virtue could survive, the country and
city, alarmed at one common danger, came
forth to meet and repulse it.... It
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125'></a>125</span>
matters not where you live, or what rank of
life you hold, the evil or the blessing will
reach you all.... The heart that feels
not now is dead. The blood of his children
will curse his cowardice who shrinks back
at a time when a little might have saved
the whole, and made them happy. I love
the man that can smile in trouble, that can
gather strength from distress, and grow brave
by reflection. ’Tis the business of little minds
to shrink; but he whose heart is firm, and
whose conscience approves his conduct, will
pursue his principles until death.... By
perseverance and fortitude, we have the prospect
of a glorious issue; by cowardice and
submission the sad choice of a variety of
evils,—a ravaged country, a depopulated city,
habitations without safety, and slavery without
hope. Look on this picture and weep
over it; and if there yet remains one thoughtless
wretch who believes it not, let him suffer
it unlamented.’”
</p>
<p>
“No more,” cried the youth in great agitation.
“I can bear no more. ‘’Tis the business
of little minds to shrink; but he whose
heart is firm, and whose conscience approves
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126'></a>126</span>
his conduct, will pursue his principles until
death.’ ’Tis true. Do not I know it. Until
death! Until death! Wretch that I am, I
know it. There have been times when I
would have given my life to be back in the
army. Do you think it is pleasant to skulk,
to hide from honest men? To know always
and always that one is a poltroon and a
coward? I tell you no. Do you think that
I have not heard the inward pleading of my
conscience to go back? That I have not seen
the accusing look in your eyes? You called
me a summer soldier! I am worse than that,
and I have lost my chance.”
</p>
<p>
“Thee has just found it, John,” cried she
quickly. “Before thee served for thine own
advancement; now thee will begin again, and
fight for thy country alone. If preferment
comes to thee, it will have been earned by
unselfish devotion. But thy country, John,
thy country! Let it be always in thy
thoughts until its liberties are secured beyond
recall.”
</p>
<p>
“Would you have me go back?” he cried,
stopping before her in amazement.
</p>
<p>
“Why, of course thee is going back,” answered Peggy
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127'></a>127</span>
simply. “There is naught else
for a man to do.”
</p>
<p>
Drayton noted the slight emphasis the girl
laid upon the word man, and made an involuntary
motion of assent.
</p>
<p>
“Did you know that deserters are ofttimes
shot?” he asked suddenly.
</p>
<p>
Peggy clutched at the back of a chair, and
turned very pale. “No,” she said faintly.
“I did not know.”
</p>
<p>
“I thought not,” he said. “None the less
what you have said is true. ‘There is naught
else for a man to do.’ I am going back,
Mistress Peggy. I shall try for another
chance, but if it does not come, still I am
going back.”
</p>
<p>
“And be shot?” she cried. “Oh, what
have I done?”
</p>
<p>
“Shown me my duty,” he answered quietly.
“Blame not yourself, for there hath been an
inward cry toward that very thing ever since
I ran away from my duty. I have stifled its
calling, and tried to palliate my wrong-doing
by excuses, but neither winter’s cold, nor the
ingratitude of an unappreciative country will
excuse a man’s not sticking by his convictions. Never
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128'></a>128</span>
again will you have it in your
power to call me a summer soldier.”
</p>
<p>
“Thee is right,” faltered the girl. “I—I
am glad that thee has so resolved, and yet——Oh!
I hope that thee will not be shot.”
</p>
<p>
She burst into tears and ran out of the
room. Girl-like, now that the end was accomplished,
Peggy was rather aghast at the result.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129'></a>129</span><a name='chXI' id='chXI'></a>CHAPTER XI—PEGGY PLEADS FOR DRAYTON</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“‘Me&#160;from&#160;fair&#160;Freedom’s&#160;sacred&#160;cause</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;&#160;Let&#160;nothing&#160;e’er&#160;divide;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Grandeur,&#160;nor&#160;gold,&#160;nor&#160;vain&#160;applause,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;&#160;Nor&#160;friendship&#160;false,&#160;misguide.’”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>The&#160;American&#160;Patriot’s&#160;Prayer.</i></p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>(Ascribed&#160;to&#160;Thomas&#160;Paine.)</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
It was Mrs. Owen who found a way out of
the situation.
</p>
<p>
“Nay, lad,” she said in her gentle way
after Peggy had poured forth her fear that
the boy might be shot, and Drayton had expressed
himself as eager to go back at once.
“Be not too hasty. Youth is ever impulsive,
and prone to act on the resolve of the moment.
Thee would prefer another chance,
would thee not?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” answered the lad quickly. “If I
could have it, I would show myself worthy
of it. But if I cannot, Madam Owen, I am
still resolved to go back, and face death like a
man.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130'></a>130</span>
</p>
<p>
“Thee is right, John,” she answered.
“But if we could reach the proper authorities
something might be done to give thee an
opportunity to redeem thyself. Stay! I
have it! Was not Mr. Arnold thy general?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” he said. “But oh, madam! is it
necessary that he should know? Think,
think what it would be should he learn that
John Drayton, one of his soldiers, deserted.
I could not bear to see him.”
</p>
<p>
“But would he not take more interest in
thee than any other officer might? He alone
would know all that thou didst endure in
that march through the Maine wilderness.
He would have a more complete understanding
of thy privations, and how thou hast
borne thyself under them. It is to him we
must look to get thee thy chance.”
</p>
<p>
Drayton buried his face in his hands for a
time, and sat in thought. Presently he
looked up.
</p>
<p>
“You speak truly, madam,” he said.
“’Tis the only way. He is the one to whom
we must go. I am ashamed to face him, but
I will. I’ll ask for another chance, but oh!
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131'></a>131</span>
this is a thing that he cannot understand:
he who would give his life rather than fail
in his duty. ’Tis a part of my punishment.
I’d rather die than face him, but I will.”
</p>
<p>
“Once more, lad, let us not be too hasty,”
said the lady again, laying a detaining hand
upon his arm as he rose to his feet. “We
must approach him with some little diplomacy.
So much have I learned in this long
war. He hath discovered a liking for Peggy
here, and hath bestowed marked notice upon
her upon several occasions. Therefore, while
I like not to seem to take advantage of such
favor, in this instance it might be well to send
her as an advocate to him for thee. What
does thee say, Peggy?”
</p>
<p>
“That ’tis the very thing,” cried Peggy,
starting up. “Oh, I will gladly go to him.
And I will plead, and plead, John, until he
cannot help but give thee another chance.”
</p>
<p>
“It seems like shirking,” remonstrated
Drayton, his restored manliness eager to begin
an expiation.
</p>
<p>
“Thee has been advertised as a deserter,
lad, and should thee attempt to go to him
thee might be apprehended. Also, if the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132'></a>132</span>
general were to see thee without first preparing
him, he might not listen to thy explanation,
and turn thee over to the recruiting
officer. It will be the part of wisdom for
Peggy to see him first.”
</p>
<p>
And so it was arranged. September had
given place to the crisp bracing air of
October, and on the uplands the trees were
beginning to wear the glory of scarlet and
yellow and opal green. Sunshine and
shadow flecked the streets of the city, and as
Peggy wended her way toward the headquarters
of General Arnold, she was conscious
of a feeling of melancholy.
</p>
<p>
“Is it because of the dying year, I
wonder?” she asked herself as a dead leaf
fell at her feet. “I know not why it is, but
my spirits are very low. Is it because I fear
the general will not give the lad his chance?
Come, Peggy!” Addressing herself sternly,
a way she had. “Put thy heart in attune
with the weather, lest thee infects the general
with thy megrims.”
</p>
<p>
So chiding herself she quickened her steps
and assumed an aggressively cheerful manner.
Just as she turned from Fifth Street into
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133'></a>133</span>
High she heard a great clamor. She stopped
in alarm as a rabble of men and boys suddenly
swept around a corner and flooded the
street toward her. The girl stood for but a
moment, and then ran back into Fifth Street,
where she stopped so frightened that she did
not notice a coach drawn by four horses driving
rapidly down the street.
</p>
<p>
“Careful, my little maid! careful!” called
a voice, and Peggy looked up to find General
Arnold himself leaning out of the coach regarding
her anxiously. “Why, ’tis Miss
Peggy Owen,” he exclaimed. “Know you
not that you but escaped being run down by
my horses?”
</p>
<p>
“I—I—’tis plain to be seen,” stammered
the maiden trembling.
</p>
<p>
“Sam, assist the young lady into the coach,”
he commanded the coachman. Then, as
Peggy was seated by his side: “I cry you
pardon, Miss Peggy, for not getting out myself.
I am not so nimble as I was. What is
it? What hath frightened you?”
</p>
<p>
“Does thee not hear the noise?” cried
Peggy.
</p>
<p>
Before he could reply the mob swept by.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134'></a>134</span>
In the midst of it was a cart in which lay a
rude pine coffin which the crowd was showering
with stones.
</p>
<p>
“’Tis the body of James Molesworth, the
spy,” he told her. “When he was executed
’twas first interred in the Potter’s Field; then
when the British held possession of the city
’twas exhumed and buried with honors.
Since the Whigs have the town again ’tis
thought fitting to restore it to its old resting
place in the Potter’s Field.”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis a shame not to let the poor man be,”
she exclaimed, every drop of blood leaving
her face. “Why do they not let him rest?
He paid the debt of his guilt. It were sin
to maltreat his bones.”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis best not to give utterance to those
sentiments, Miss Peggy,” he cautioned.
“They do honor to your heart, but the public
temper is such that no mercy is shown toward
those miscreants who serve as spies.”
</p>
<p>
“But it hath been so long since he was
executed,” she said with quivering lips. “And
is it not strange? When I came into the city
to seek my father ’twas the very day that
they had exhumed his body and were burying
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135'></a>135</span>
it with honors. Oh, doth it portend some
dire disaster to us?”
</p>
<p>
“Come, come, Miss Peggy,” he said soothingly.
“Calm yourself. I knew not that
Quakers were superstitious, and had regard
for omens. Why, I verily believe that you
would look for a stranger should the points
of the scissors stick into the floor if they fell
accidentally.”
</p>
<p>
“I would,” she confessed. “I fancy all
of us girls do. But this—this is different.”
</p>
<p>
“Not a whit,” he declared. “’Tis a mere
coincidence that you should happen to be
present on both occasions.” And then seeing
that her color had not returned even though
the last of the mob had gone by, he gave a
word to the coachman. “I am going to take
you for a short drive,” he announced, “and
to your destination.”
</p>
<p>
“Why! I was coming to see thee,” cried
Peggy with a sudden remembrance of her
mission. “I wish to chat with thee anent
something and—someone.”
</p>
<p>
“Robert Dale?” he questioned with a
laugh. “He is a fine fellow, and well worthy
of a chat.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136'></a>136</span>
</p>
<p>
“Oh, no! Not about Robert, though he is
indeed well worthy of it, as thee says. ’Tis
about one John Drayton.”
</p>
<p>
“What? Another?” He laughed again,
and settled himself back on the cushions with
an amused air. Then as he met the innocent
surprise of her clear eyes he became serious.
“And what about him, Miss Peggy?”
</p>
<p>
“Does thee not remember him, Friend
Arnold?” she queried in surprise. “He was
with thee on thy march through the wilderness
to Quebec.”
</p>
<p>
“Is that the Drayton you mean?” he asked
amazed in turn. “I do indeed remember
him. What of him? He is well, I hope. A
lad of parts, I recall. And brave. Very brave!”
</p>
<p>
“He hath not been well, but is so now,”
she said.
</p>
<p>
“You have something to ask of me,” he
said keenly. “Speak out, Miss Peggy. I
knew not that he was a friend of yours.”
</p>
<p>
“He hath not been until of late,” she
answered troubled as to how she should
broach the subject. “Sir,” she said presently,
plunging boldly into the matter, “suppose
that after serving three long years a soldier
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137'></a>137</span>
should weaken? Suppose that such an one
grew faint hearted at the prospect of another
winter such as the one just passed at Valley
Forge; would thee find it in thy heart to
blame him, if, for a time, he should”—she
paused searching for a word that would express
her meaning without using the dreadful
one, desert—“he should, well—retire without
leave until he could recover his strength?
Would thee blame him?”
</p>
<p>
“Do you mean that Drayton hath deserted?”
he asked sternly.
</p>
<p>
“He did; but he repents,” she told him
quickly. “Oh, judge him not until I tell
anent it. He wants to go back. His courage
failed only because of sickness. Now he is
ready and willing, nay, even eager to go
back even though he meets death by so doing.
As he says himself ’twas naught but the cold,
and hunger, and scanty clothing that drove
him to it.” Peggy’s eyes grew eloquent with
feeling as she thought of the forlorn condition
of the lad when she first saw him.
</p>
<p>
“And if he goes back, will he not have
hunger, and cold, and scanty clothing to endure
again?” he asked harshly.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138'></a>138</span>
</p>
<p>
“Yes; but now he hath rested and grown
strong,” she answered. “He will have the
strength to endure for perchance another three
years should the war last so long. He wants
to go back. He wants a chance to redeem
himself.”
</p>
<p>
“And had he not the courage to come to
me himself without asking you to intercede
for him?” he demanded. “He was in my
command, and he knows me as only the
soldiers do know me. Since when hath
Benedict Arnold ceased to give ear to the
distress of one of his soldiers? I like it not
that he did not appeal to me of himself.”
</p>
<p>
“He wished to,” interposed the girl eagerly.
“Indeed, ’twas mother’s and my thought
for me to come to you. We thought,
we thought”—Peggy faltered, but went on
bravely—“we thought that thee should be
approached diplomatically. We wished the
lad to have every chance to redeem himself,
and we feared that if thee saw him without
preparation thee might be inclined to give him
to the recruiting officer. He is so sincere, he
wishes so truly to have another chance that
mother and I could not bear that he should
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139'></a>139</span>
not have it. I have made a poor advocate, I
fear,” she added with a wistful little smile,
“though he did say that he would rather die
than face thee.”
</p>
<p>
“Unravel the matter from the beginning,”
he commanded, with a slight smile at her confession
of diplomacy.
</p>
<p>
And Peggy did so, beginning with the time
that the lad mended the saddle on the road,
the loss of her pony, and everything leading
to Drayton’s stay with them, even to the
making of the uniform of blue and buff and
the reading of “The Crisis.”
</p>
<p>
“Upon my life,” he cried laughing heartily
at this. “I shall advise General Washington
to appoint you to take charge of our fainthearted
ones. So he did not relish being
called a summer soldier, eh? Miss Peggy, I
believe that I should like to see the lad, and
have a talk with him.”
</p>
<p>
“Thee will not be harsh with him, will
thee?” she pleaded. “He hath indeed been
in a woeful plight, and he could not bear it
from thee. And he doth consider the country
ungrateful toward him.”
</p>
<p>
“He is right,” commented Arnold, a frown
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140'></a>140</span>
contracting his brow. “Ungrateful indeed!
Not only he but others have suffered from her
injustice. Have no fear, Miss Peggy, but take
me to him at once.”
</p>
<p>
Nevertheless Peggy felt some uneasiness as
the coach turned in the direction of her home.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141'></a>141</span><a name='chXII' id='chXII'></a>CHAPTER XII—ANOTHER CHANCE</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“Thy&#160;spirit,&#160;Independence,&#160;let&#160;me&#160;share,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;&#160;Lord&#160;of&#160;the&#160;lion-heart&#160;and&#160;eagle&#160;eye;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Thy&#160;steps&#160;I&#160;follow,&#160;with&#160;my&#160;bosom&#160;bare,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;&#160;Nor&#160;heed&#160;the&#160;storm&#160;that&#160;howls&#160;along&#160;the&#160;sky.</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Immortal&#160;Liberty,&#160;whose&#160;look&#160;sublime</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Hath&#160;bleached&#160;the&#160;tyrant’s&#160;cheek&#160;in&#160;every&#160;varying&#160;clime.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>Smollett.</i></p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
Drayton was lying on the settle when
Peggy announced General Arnold. He sprang
to his feet with an exclamation as the latter
entered, and then shrank back and hung his
head.
</p>
<p>
“You, you,” he murmured brokenly. “Oh,
how can you bear to see me?”
</p>
<p>
“And is it thus we meet again, Drayton?”
said the general, all the reserve and hauteur of
his manner vanishing before the distress of his
former soldier.
</p>
<p>
“’Twas cold,” muttered Drayton too
ashamed to raise his head. “I—I feared it
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142'></a>142</span>
sir. You cannot understand,” he broke out.
“How can a man of your courage know how
such things eat the very heart out of a
fellow?”
</p>
<p>
“I do know, boy,” exclaimed Arnold seating
himself on the settle. “What would you
say if I were to tell you that once I deserted?”
</p>
<p>
“You?” cried the youth flinging up his
head to stare at him. “I’d never believe it,
sir. You desert! Impossible!”
</p>
<p>
“Nevertheless, I did, my lad. Listen, and
I will tell you of it. I was fifteen at the
time, and my imagination had been fired by
tales of the atrocities committed on the frontier
by the French and Indians. I resolved
to enlist and relieve the dire state of my
countrymen as far as lay in my power. So
I ran away from home to Lake George, where
the main part of the army was at the time.
The wilderness of that northern country was
dense, and I passed through hardships similar
to those we sustained in our march to
Quebec. You know, Drayton, what an army
may have to endure in such circumstances?”
</p>
<p>
Drayton nodded, his eyes fixed on his beloved
leader with fascinated interest.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143'></a>143</span>
</p>
<p>
“Well,” continued the general, “the privations
proved too much for a lad of my age,
so I deserted, and made my way home. I
shall never forget the fright my good mother
would be in if she but caught a glimpse of
the recruiting officer. I was under the required
age for the army, to be sure, but none
the less I skulked and hid until the French
and Indian war had ceased, and there was no
longer need for hiding.”
</p>
<p>
“You,” breathed the youth in so low a
tone as scarce to be heard, “you did that,
and then made that charge at Saratoga?
You, sir?”
</p>
<p>
“Even I,” the general told him briefly.
“’Tis a portion of my life that I don’t often
speak of, Drayton, but I thought that it
might help you to know that I could understand—that
others before you have been
faint hearted, and then retrieved themselves.”
</p>
<p>
“You?” spoke the lad again in a maze.
“You! and then after that, the march through
that awful wilderness! Why, sir, ’twas you
that held us together. ’Twas you, that when
the three hundred turned back and left us
to our fate, ’twas you who cried: ‘Never
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144'></a>144</span>
mind, boys! There’ll be more glory for the
rest of us.’ ’Twas you that cheered us when
our courage flagged. ’Twas you that carried
us through. And then Valcour! Why, sir,
look at the British ships you fought. And
Ticonderoga! And Crown Point! And
Ridgefield, where six horses were shot from
under you!”
</p>
<p>
“And do you remember all those?” asked
Arnold, touched. “Would that Congress had
a like appreciation of my services; but it
took a Saratoga to gain even my proper
rank.”
</p>
<p>
“I know,” cried the boy hotly. “Haven’t
we men talked it over by the camp-fires?
Were it left to the soldiers you should be next
to the commander-in-chief himself.”
</p>
<p>
“I know that, my lad,” spoke the general,
markedly pleased by this devotion. “But
now a truce to that, and let us consider your
case. Miss Peggy here tells me that you wish
to return to the army?”
</p>
<p>
“I do,” said the youth earnestly. “Indeed,
General Arnold, no one could help it about
her. She gave me no peace until I so declared
myself.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145'></a>145</span>
</p>
<p>
“I understand that she read ‘The Crisis’
to you,” said Arnold, a smile playing about
his lips. “But you, Drayton. Aside from
that, is it your wish to return to the army?
It hath ofttimes been in my thoughts of late
to obtain a grant of land and retire thereto
with such of my men as were sick and
weary of the war. I have in truth had some
correspondence anent the subject with the
state of New York. Would you like to be
one of my household there?”
</p>
<p>
“Beyond anything,” spoke Drayton eagerly.
“But not until I have redeemed
myself, general. Were I to go before you
would always be wondering if I would not
fail you at some crucial moment. You have
won your laurels, sir, and deserve retirement.
But I have mine to gain. Give me another
chance. That is all I ask.”
</p>
<p>
“You shall have it, Drayton. Come with
me, and I will send you with a note to General
Washington. He hath so much of friendship
for me that because I ask it he will give
you the chance you wish.”
</p>
<p>
“But the uniform,” interposed Peggy who
had been a pleased listener to the foregoing
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146'></a>146</span>
conversation. “I made him a uniform,
Friend Arnold. Should he not wear it?”
</p>
<p>
“’Twould be most ungallant not to, Miss
Peggy,” returned the commander laughing.
</p>
<p>
“I knew not that you had made it,” exclaimed
Drayton as Peggy disappeared, and
returned with the uniform in question.
“Why, ’tis but a short time since I said that
I would go back. How could you get it done
so soon?”
</p>
<p>
Peggy laughed.
</p>
<p>
“It hath been making a long time,” she
confessed. “Mother helped me with dyeing
the cloth, but all the rest I did myself. I
knew that thee would go back from the first.”
</p>
<p>
“’Twas more than I did then,” declared
Drayton as the girl left the room once more
in search of her mother. “Sir, could a man
do aught else than return to his allegiance
when urged to it by such a girl?”
</p>
<p>
“No,” agreed his general with a smile.
“Drayton, your friend hath clothed you with
a uniform of her own manufacture. You
have shown an appreciation of Benedict
Arnold such as I knew not that any held of
my services to the country. Take therefore
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147'></a>147</span>
this sword,” unbuckling it from his waist as
he spoke. “’Tis the one I used in that dash at
Saratoga that you followed. Take it, Ensign
Drayton, and wear it in memory of him who
was once your commanding officer.”
</p>
<p>
“Your sword?” breathed Drayton with a
gasp of amazement. “Your sword, General
Arnold? I am not worthy! I am not
worthy!”
</p>
<p>
“Tut, tut, boy! I make no doubt but that
you will wield it with more honor than it
hath derived from the present owner,” said
the other pressing it upon the lad.
</p>
<p>
“Then, sir, I take it,” said Drayton clasping
it with a reverent gesture. “And may
God requite me with my just deserts if ever I
bring disgrace upon it. Sir, I swear to you
that never shall it be used, save as you have
used it, in the defense of my country.
Should ever I grow faint hearted again, I will
have but to look at this sword, and think of
the courage and patriotism of him who gave
it to renew my courage. Pray heaven that I
may ever prove as loyal to my country as
Benedict Arnold hath shown himself.”
</p>
<p>
“You, you overwhelm me, boy,” gasped
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148'></a>148</span>
Arnold who had grown strangely pale as the
lad was speaking. “I make no doubt but
that you will grace the weapon as well as the
original owner. Ah!” with evident relief,
“here are Mrs. Owen and the fair Peggy.
Doth not our soldier lad make a brave showing,
Miss Peggy?”
</p>
<p>
“He doth indeed,” cried Peggy in delight.
“And thee has given him thy sword, Friend
Arnold! How monstrously good of thee!”
</p>
<p>
“Is it not?” asked Drayton in an awed
tone. “And I am only a subaltern. Oh,
Mistress Peggy, you will never have the opportunity
to call me a summer soldier again.
I have that which will keep me from ever being
faint hearted again.” He touched the
weapon proudly as he ended. “This will inspire
me with courage.”
</p>
<p>
“Of course it will,” cried Peggy with answering
enthusiasm. “Mother said all along
that naught ailed thee but an empty
stomach.”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis what ails the most of our soldiers,”
said the boy as the laugh died away which
this speech provoked. “’Tis marvelous how
a little food doth raise the patriotism.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149'></a>149</span>
</p>
<p>
“And thee will be sure to write?” questioned
Peggy when they descended to the
lower floor. “I shall be anxious to hear of
thy well-being, and thee must remember,
John, that ’tis my intention to keep thee in
socks, and mittens, and to renew that uniform
when ’tis needed. Thee shall be cold
no more if I can help it. And how shall it
be done unless thee will let me know thy
whereabouts?”
</p>
<p>
“Have no fear. I shall be glad to write,”
answered Drayton who, now that the time
had come for departure, seemed loath to leave
them. “Madam Owen, and Miss Peggy, you
have made a new man of me. How shall I
ever thank you for your care?”
</p>
<p>
“Speak not of it, dear lad,” said the lady
gently. “If we have done thee good it hath
not been without benefit to us also. And if
thou dost need anything fail not to let us
know. ’Tis sweet to minister to those who
take the field in our defense. It makes thee
very near and dear to us to know personally
all that thee and thy fellows are undergoing
for our sakes.”
</p>
<p>
“Dear lady, the man who will not fight for
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150'></a>150</span>
such as you deserves the fate of a deserter
indeed,” exclaimed the youth, much moved.
“I thank you again. You shall hear from
me, but not as a summer soldier.”
</p>
<p>
He bent in a deep obeisance before both
mother and daughter, and then with one last
long look about him John Drayton followed
General Arnold to the coach.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151'></a>151</span><a name='chXIII' id='chXIII'></a>CHAPTER XIII—GOOD NEWS</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“To&#160;them&#160;was&#160;life&#160;a&#160;simple&#160;art</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;&#160;Of&#160;duties&#160;to&#160;be&#160;done,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>A&#160;game&#160;where&#160;each&#160;one&#160;took&#160;his&#160;part,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;&#160;A&#160;race&#160;where&#160;all&#160;must&#160;run.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—“The&#160;Men&#160;of&#160;Old,”&#160;<i>Lord&#160;Houghton</i>.</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
Life flowed along in its customary channels
with little of incident for Peggy and her
mother after the departure of Drayton. But
if it was not eventful there was no lack of
occupation.
</p>
<p>
The house and grounds were brought into
order; the stores of unspun wool and unhatcheled
flax were at length all spun into
yarn and thread which in turn were woven
into cloth from which the two replenished
their depleted wardrobes. But, though all
patriotic women strove to supply their every
need by domestic industry, the prices of the
commonest necessities of life advanced to such
an extent that only the strictest frugality
enabled them to live.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152'></a>152</span>
</p>
<p>
“There is one thing, mother,” said Peggy
one morning in November as she found Mrs.
Owen studying accounts with a grave face.
“There is one thing sure: if the war lasts
much longer we shall all be ruined as to our
estates, whatever may be the state of our
liberties.”
</p>
<p>
“True, Peggy,” answered her mother with
a sigh. “Philadelphia hath become a place
of ‘crucifying expenses,’ as Mr. James Lovell
says. And how to be more frugal I know
not.”
</p>
<p>
“And yet there was never so much dressing
and entertaining going on,” remarked
Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“Times are strangely altered indeed,” observed
the lady with another sigh. “The
city is no longer the town that William Penn
desired, but hath gone wild with luxury and
dissipation.”
</p>
<p>
“Many are leaving the city, mother. ’Tis
not we alone who find it expensive.”
</p>
<p>
“I know, Peggy. ’Tis affecting every one.
Would that a better example were set the
citizens at headquarters. Mr. Arnold is a
good soldier. He hath shown himself to be
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153'></a>153</span>
a man of rare courage, but I fear ’twas a
mistake to put him in charge of our city.
Would that he had less money, or else more
prudence. I fear the effect on the country.
But there! I have uttered more than was
wise, but I trust to thy discretion.”
</p>
<p>
“The city is rife with rumors of his extravagance,
mother,” Peggy made answer.
“Thee is not alone in commenting upon it.
Here was Robert yesterday looking exceedingly
grave anent the reports. He says that
there is much talk concerning the number
and magnificence of the entertainments given
at headquarters, and that many deem it but
mere ostentation.”
</p>
<p>
“I feared there would be comment,” was
Mrs. Owen’s reply. “’Tis pity that it should
happen so when he hath such a fine record
as a soldier. Such things cause discontent.
There is so much use for the money among
the suffering soldiers that I wonder he does
not choose to spend it so. I like not to see
waste. ’Tis sinful. Ah! here is Betty, who
looks full of importance. Belike she hath
news.”
</p>
<p>
“I am come to say good-bye, Peggy,” announced Betty
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154'></a>154</span>
Williams bustling in upon
them. “Mother and family are going to
Lancaster. Father hath advised us to leave
the city owing to the high price of commodities,
and while they go there, I, with a party
of friends, am going to Dr. Simpson’s to take
the smallpox. It hath been so prevalent
that mother feared for me to delay longer in
taking it.”
</p>
<p>
“Does thee not dread it, Betty?” questioned
Peggy, regarding Betty’s fair skin with
some anxiety.
</p>
<p>
“I like not the pittings,” confessed Betty
candidly. “But Dr. Simpson advertises that
he hath acquired special skill in the Orient
in distributing the marks so as to minister to
feminine looks instead of detracting from
them, and he promises to limit them to but
few. Can thee not come with me, Peggy?
Thee has not had it, and we shall be a merry
party.”
</p>
<p>
“I fear that it would not be altogether to
my liking, Betty. I know that I should be
inoculated, but I shrink from the process. I
will say so frankly.”
</p>
<p>
“Thee is just like Sally,” cried Betty.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155'></a>155</span>
“She hath courage to become a nurse, yet
cannot pluck up heart to join a smallpox
party. And thee, Peggy Owen! I am disappointed
in thee. I have not half thy pluck,
nor Sally’s; yet I mind not the ordeal. It
may save me from a greater calamity. Just
think how relieved the mind would be not
to dread the disease all the rest of one’s life.
And then to emerge fairer than before, for
so the doctor promises. Oh, <em>charmante</em>!”
ended Betty.
</p>
<p>
“Thee is brave to feel so about it, Betty,”
said Peggy. “I hope that all will result as
thee wishes. I shall miss thee.”
</p>
<p>
“I wish thee would come too,” said Betty
wistfully. “The other girls are nice, but there
are none like thee and Sally. It used to be
that we three were together in everything,
but since the war began all that hath changed.
What sort of times have come upon us when
the only fun left to a damsel is to take the
smallpox? And what does thee think, Peggy?
I wove some linen, and sent it to the ladies to
make into sheets for the prisoners. They said
that it was the toughest linen they had ever
worked with. It made their fingers bleed.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156'></a>156</span>
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Betty, Betty! was it thou who wove
that linen?” laughed Peggy holding up her
hands for inspection. “I’ve had to bind my
fingers up in mutton tallow every night since
I sewed on it. Never mind! thee meant well,
anyhow. Come now! Shall we have a cup
of tea, and a chat anent things other than
smallpox, or tough linen?”
</p>
<p>
The two girls left the room, and Mrs. Owen
turned once more to her accounts. But as the
days passed by and the complexion of the times
became no better her perplexity deepened.
</p>
<p>
The ferment of the city grew. Personal
and political disputes of all kinds were rife at
this time. Men began to refer to the capital
city as an attractive scene of debauch and
amusement. In compliment to the alliance
French fashions and customs crept in, and
the extravagance of the country at large in
the midst of its distresses became amazing.
It was a period of transition. The war itself
was dull. The two armies lay watching each
other—Clinton in New York City, with Washington’s
forces extending from White Plains
to Elizabeth, New Jersey. The Congress was
no longer the dignified body of seventy-six,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157'></a>157</span>
and often sat with fewer than a dozen members.
Even the best men wearied of the war,
and their dissatisfaction communicated itself
to the masses. The conditions favored excesses,
and Philadelphia, as the chief city, was
caught in a vortex of extravagances.
</p>
<p>
So it was much to Mrs. Owen’s relief when
she received a letter from her husband bidding
her to come to him with Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“There will be no luxuries, and few conveniences,”
he wrote from Middlebrook, which
was the headquarters for the winter of seventy-eight.
“None the less there is time for enjoyment
as well as duty. Many of the officers
have their wives and families with them so
that there is no reason why we should not be
together also.
</p>
<p>
“Tell Peggy that she will live in the midst
of military equipment, but will not find it
unpleasant. General Greene told me that he
dined at a table in Philadelphia last week
where one hundred and sixty dishes were
served. Would that our soldiers had some of
it! What a change hath come over the hearts
of the people! I shall be glad to have thee
and my little Peggy out of it.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158'></a>158</span>
</p>
<p>
“Come as soon as thou canst make arrangements,
and we will be a reunited family once
more, for the winter at least. God alone knows
what the spring will bring forth. ’Tis now
thought that Sir Henry Clinton intends for
the South at that time. ’Twould change the
complexion of affairs very materially.”
</p>
<p>
Here followed some instructions as to financial
and other matters. Mrs. Owen called
Peggy hastily.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, mother, mother! isn’t thee glad?”
cried the girl dancing about excitedly. “And
we will not only be with father, but with the
army too. Just think! The very same soldiers
that we have been making socks and
shirts for so long.”
</p>
<p>
“The very same, Peggy,” answered her
mother, her face reflecting Peggy’s delight.
“I am in truth pleased to go. I was much
worried as to the outcome of the winter here.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159'></a>159</span><a name='chXIV' id='chXIV'></a>CHAPTER XIV—THE CAMP AT MIDDLEBROOK</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“We&#160;are&#160;those&#160;whose&#160;trained&#160;battalions,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;&#160;Trained&#160;to&#160;bleed,&#160;not&#160;to&#160;fly,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Make&#160;our&#160;agonies&#160;a&#160;triumph—</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;&#160;Conquer,&#160;while&#160;we&#160;die.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—“A&#160;Battle&#160;Song,”&#160;<i>Edwin&#160;Arnold</i>.</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
“Well, if this be a foot-warmer I wonder
what a foot-freezer would be called,” exclaimed
Peggy in tones of disgust, slipping from her
seat in the coach to feel the covered iron at
her mother’s feet. “I don’t believe that the
innkeeper at the last tavern where we baited
our horses filled it with live coals, as I told
him to. He was none too civil.”
</p>
<p>
“Belike ’twas because we paid our reckoning
in Continental money,” remarked Mrs.
Owen. “Never mind the iron, Peggy. I
shall do very well without it; and if thou art
not careful thou wilt drop that box which
thee has been so choice of through the journey.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160'></a>160</span>
</p>
<p>
Peggy laughed as she resumed her seat by
her mother’s side.
</p>
<p>
“Is thee curious anent that box, mother?”
she questioned drawing a small oblong box
of ebony wood closer to her.
</p>
<p>
“I should be,” observed the lady with a
smile, “had I not heard Friend Deering tell
thee that ’twas a secret betwixt thee and
him.”
</p>
<p>
“I should think that being a secret would
make thee wonder all the more concerning
it,” remarked the girl. “It would me,
mother.”
</p>
<p>
“Is thee trying to awake my inquisitiveness,
daughter?”
</p>
<p>
“I am to tell thee about it should thee
ask,” said Peggy suggestively. “But in all
these four days thou hast not once evinced the
slightest desire to know aught anent the
matter. How can thee be so indifferent,
mother? I am eager to tell thee.”
</p>
<p>
“So I judged,” replied Mrs. Owen laughing
outright. “Know then, Peggy, that I
am as desirous of hearing as thou art of telling.
’Tis something for General Washington;
is ’t not?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161'></a>161</span>
</p>
<p>
“Why, mother, thee knows already,” cried
Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“No, no, child; I am only guessing.
’Twould be like Friend Deering to send something
to the general. That is all I know of
the matter.”
</p>
<p>
“Well, then, ’tis five hundred English
guineas,” explained the girl, enjoying the look
of amazement on her mother’s face.
</p>
<p>
“Peggy, no!” exclaimed the lady. “I
thought belike ’twas money, but I knew not
that it was so much. How pleased the general
will be. Hard money is getting scarcer
and scarcer, and the people murmur against
the currency of Congress.”
</p>
<p>
“And shall I tell thee all that I am to say
to Friend Washington?” asked Peggy with
an important air. “Mother, thee did not
guess that while thee was gathering supplies
I too had business of like nature?”
</p>
<p>
“No, I did not know,” replied Mrs. Owen.
“Unravel the matter, I beg, Peggy. ’Twill
serve well to pass the time, and I am curious
also concerning the affair.”
</p>
<p>
It was three weeks after the receipt of
David Owen’s letter, and December was upon
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162'></a>162</span>
them ere mother and daughter had completed
their arrangements for the journey. Knowing
the great need of supplies at the encampment,
Mrs. Owen determined not to go empty
handed, and so made a personal canvas
among the citizens, who responded to her appeal
for the soldiers with their usual liberality.
In consequence, when at length everything
was in readiness, it was quite a little caravan
that left the city headed for Middlebrook,
New Jersey. First came the coach with
Peggy and her mother inside; then followed
two farm wagons loaded with stores of various
kinds; behind these came Tom with Star,
for Peggy was hoping for rides with her
father; the whole traveling under the escort
of four of the Pennsylvania Light Horse who
had been in Philadelphia on furloughs.
</p>
<p>
The roads were bad, the traveling rough
and slow, the weather cold and damp, but to
Peggy, who had never before been away from
Philadelphia and its vicinity, the journey was
full of interest and excitement. It was now
the afternoon of the fourth day since they
had started, and both the maiden and the
lady were conscious of a growing feeling of
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163'></a>163</span>
excitement as they neared the journey’s end,
so the matter of the box, about which the
matron had in truth been wondering, was a
welcome diversion.
</p>
<p>
“At first,” said Peggy pulling the fur robe
closer about her and nestling confidentially
up to her mother, “he said ’twas so small an
amount that he wished me to say naught
concerning the donor. But I persuaded him
to let me tell who gave it, saying to him that
’twas not the amount that counted so much
as the spirit in which ’twas given.”
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Owen nodded approval, and the girl
continued:
</p>
<p>
“And so I am to say that since Jacob Deering
is esteemed too old to take up arms for
his country ’tis the only thing he can do to
show his sympathy with the cause.”
</p>
<p>
“Would that there were more like him,”
ejaculated the lady. “The cause would soon
languish were it not for just such support.
Is thee tired, Peggy?”
</p>
<p>
“Not very, mother. Still, I shall be glad
when we reach the camp.”
</p>
<p>
At length, just as the sun was sinking behind
the Watchung Mountains, the cumbersome coach swung
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164'></a>164</span>
round a bend in the road,
and the encampment came into view. They
had left Philadelphia by the old York road,
crossing the Delaware at Coryell’s Ferry, and
swinging across Hunterdon County into
Somerset, where the army was stationed, so
that their first sight of the Continental cantonment
glimpsed nearly all of the seven
brigades stationed there.
</p>
<p>
All along the Raritan River, and on the
heights of Middlebrook the fields were dotted
with tents and parks of artillery. Suddenly,
as they drew nearer, the highways between
the different posts seemed alive with soldiers
going and coming. There was the crunch on
the frozen ground of many feet. The country
quiet was broken by the rattle of arms, the
snort of horses, and the stir and bustle of
camp. There was something inspiriting in
the spectacle. Fatigue was forgotten, and
Peggy straightened up with a little cry of delight.
</p>
<p>
“Look at the tents, mother,” she cried.
“Didst ever see so many before?”
</p>
<p>
“We must be at Middlebrook,” exclaimed
Mrs. Owen, almost as excited as Peggy.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165'></a>165</span>
“Just see how the prospect of rest hath reanimated
the driver and his horses.”
</p>
<p>
The maiden laughed as the driver sat up,
cracked his whip and urged his horses to
greater dispatch. The tired animals responded
nobly, but their spurt of speed was
checked suddenly by a peremptory command
from the patrol. The examination over, they
were allowed to proceed, but were again
halted when they had gone but a short distance.
</p>
<p>
“What can it be now?” wondered Peggy
peering out of the coach. Catching sight of
the tall figure that came alongside, she called
gaily:
</p>
<p>
“The countersign, father! The countersign!”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis welcome! Thrice welcome!” answered
David Owen flinging wide the door
of the vehicle and taking her into a tender
embrace. “Art tired, Peggy?”
</p>
<p>
“No, father; but I fear that mother is.
She hath been cold too.”
</p>
<p>
“But I am so no longer,” spoke Mrs. Owen
cheerily. “Thee is well, David?”
</p>
<p>
“Never better, my wife. I have forgot
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166'></a>166</span>
that I was ever ill. But come! let us proceed
to our quarters.”
</p>
<p>
“And who are in our mess?” asked Peggy
as, after a word to the driver, her father
stepped into the coach.
</p>
<p>
“Thou hast become militaryish already, I
see,” he said smiling. “I have found accommodations
for us at a farmhouse very near
Bound Brook. ’Tis just beyond General
Greene’s brigade, and close enough to the Pennsylvania
line not to interfere with active duty.
There will be but five in our mess, as thee
calls it, Peggy—Friend Decker and wife, thy
mother, thyself and I. ’Tis Friend Decker’s
house. Dutch they are, but patriots staunch
and true. See, my wife! We are coming to
General Washington’s headquarters. ’Tis a
much better dwelling than he occupied last
year at Valley Forge. To thy right, Peggy. ’Tis
the farmhouse in the midst of the orchard.”
</p>
<p>
“Friend Deering hath sent some gold to
the general by Peggy,” observed Mrs. Owen
bending forward that she might the better
see the building. “And there are supplies
behind in the wagons for the soldiers. Two
loads there are.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167'></a>167</span>
</p>
<p>
“Now that is good news indeed,” exclaimed
Mr. Owen. “The chief should know
of it immediately. We will stop there now.
’Twill ensure the general a better night’s rest
to receive such tidings. He hath been
greatly worried lately over the apathy of the
people toward the war.”
</p>
<p>
“Then if ’twill be of any comfort to him to
learn of this small aid let us go to him at
once, David,” said his wife.
</p>
<p>
The last bit of sunlight disappeared behind
the hills as they turned from the road into
the meadow in the centre of which stood
the large two-story wooden dwelling where
General Washington had established his
quarters for the winter. But lately finished,
it was considered a model of elegance for that
section of the country, and was in truth most
roomy and comfortable.
</p>
<p>
As the light faded, from the meadows and
the hills sounded the drums, fifes and bugles
in the retreat, or sunset drum beat. Scarcely
had the music died away than all along the
top of the mountain range the watch-fires of
the sentinels blazed out suddenly.
</p>
<p>
“Oh!” gasped Peggy, her eyes glowing,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168'></a>168</span>
“if I live long ’mid such surroundings
methinks I shall feel equal to fighting the
whole British army.”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis so with all new recruits, Peggy,”
laughed her father. “Thee will not be so affected
when the novelty wears off. And here
is the dwelling. ’Twill not take us long to
present our news to the general, and then for
quarters.”
</p>
<p>
A few rods to the east of the mansion were
about fifty tents erected for the use of the
life-guard. Fires flamed before every tent,
around which men were gathered, laughing,
talking or singing. Peggy looked about
with much curiosity, but her father hastened
at once to the door of the dwelling, where
stood an orderly.
</p>
<p>
“Will thee tell His Excellency that David
Owen is without, and wishes to see him?” he
asked. “’Tis important.”
</p>
<p>
The orderly was absent but a moment.
“His Excellency will see you, Mr. Owen,”
he said. “You are to go right in.”
</p>
<div><a name='fig175' id='fig175'></a></div>
<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<a name='i005' id='i005'></a>
<img src="images/illus175.jpg" alt="“MY WIFE AND DAUGHTER, YOUR EXCELLENCY”" title=""/><br />
<span class='caption'>“MY WIFE AND DAUGHTER, YOUR EXCELLENCY”</span>
</div>
<p>
Peggy’s heart began to flutter painfully as
she found herself once more in the presence
of General Washington, and her mind went
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169'></a>169</span>
back involuntarily to the last time when she
had taken that long ride to Valley Forge to
beg for her father’s exchange. So perturbed
was she that she did not notice that the room
was large, low ceiled, and cozily warmed by a
huge fire of logs which glowed in the great
fireplace. Instead of being interested in the
furnishings of the apartment, as she would
have been at another time, she clung close to
her father overcome by the remembrance of
how very near they had been to losing him,
and could not raise her eyes when he said:
</p>
<p>
“I beg to present my wife and daughter,
Your Excellency. They tell me that they
have brought some money and supplies, and
it seemed best to let thee know of it at once.”
</p>
<p>
“You have acted with discretion, Mr.
Owen,” said General Washington rising from
the table before which he had been sitting.
“Madam Owen, I have long known of you
through your good works, but have hitherto
not had the pleasure of meeting with you
personally. You would be welcome at any
time, but doubly so since you bring us aid.”
</p>
<p>
“Thy thanks are not due me, but to the
citizens of Philadelphia, sir,” said Mrs. Owen
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170'></a>170</span>
with her finest curtsey. “There are two
wagon loads of stores of various kinds, among
which are several casks of cider vinegar. We
heard that thee was in need of that article.”
</p>
<p>
“We are indeed,” replied General Washington.
“The country hereabouts hath been
scoured for it until the farmers tell us that
there is no more. ’Tis sorely needed for our
fever-stricken men. ’Tis very timely, Mistress
Owen.”
</p>
<p>
“And for thyself, sir,” continued the lady,
“a few of us learned of thy fondness for eggs,
and there are several dozens of those. But,
sir, on pain of displeasure from those who
sent them, thou art not to divide them with
any. They are for thine own table.”
</p>
<p>
“I will incur no displeasure on that account,
I assure you,” said the general laughing.
“I fear that you have been in communication
with the housekeeper, who hath been much
concerned because of the scarcity of eggs. I
thank you, Mrs. Owen, for having so favored
me, and also for the other stores. They are
much needed. Mr. Owen, will you see to ‘t
that the quartermaster heeds your wife’s injunction
about those eggs?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171'></a>171</span>
</p>
<p>
David Owen bowed, and his wife went on:
</p>
<p>
“And Peggy hath also something for thee
in that box, Your Excellency. She hath made
so much of a mystery of it that I knew not
the nature of its contents until this afternoon.”
</p>
<p>
General Washington had not been unaware
of Peggy’s agitation. Perhaps he too was
thinking of the time when she had been so
severely tried, for his voice was very gentle
as he took the girl’s hand and said:
</p>
<p>
“Miss Peggy and I are old friends. She
promised me once to tell me what became of
that wonderful dog of hers. I shall claim
the fulfilment of that promise, my child, since
we shall see much of each other this winter.”
</p>
<p>
The ready smile came to Peggy’s lips, chasing
away the tears that had threatened to
flow.
</p>
<p>
“Does thee remember Pilot?” she cried.
“Oh, Friend Washington, I did not think
a man so concerned with affairs of state
would remember a dog.”
</p>
<p>
“He wished me well, and I always remember
my friends and well wishers,” he said,
pleased that she had recovered her composure.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172'></a>172</span>
</p>
<p>
“And ’tis one of them who hath sent thee
this box of five hundred English guineas,”
she said quickly, pointing to the box. “’Tis
from Mr. Jacob Deering, sir. He said to tell
thee that since he was esteemed too old to
take up arms ’twas the only way left him to
serve the cause. He regretted the smallness
of the amount, but he said that English
money was hard to come by.”
</p>
<p>
“It is indeed hard to come by,” replied
the general, receiving the box with gratification.
“This is most welcome, Miss Peggy,
because just at this time our own money is
depreciating rapidly owing to the fact that
the British are counterfeiting it by the wagon
load, and distributing it among the people.
I trust that I may soon have an opportunity
to thank Mr. Deering in person. I shall be
in Philadelphia next week, and shall do myself
the honor of calling upon him. In the
meantime, Miss Peggy, receive my thanks for
this timely relief. Will you not——”
</p>
<p>
At this moment the door opened to admit
an orderly. General Washington turned to
him. “What is it, sir?” he said. “Did you
not know that I was occupied?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173'></a>173</span>
</p>
<p>
“Pardon me, sir,” replied the orderly,
saluting. “One of the videttes hath brought
in a young girl who declares she hath a permit
to pass the lines. He knows not what to
do with her. She is English, sir, and comes
from New York.”
</p>
<p>
“Bring her in,” commanded the chief.
“Nay,” as the Owens made a movement to
depart, “stay a little, I beg of you. This
matter will take but a moment.”
</p>
<p>
As he finished speaking the door opened
once more to admit the form of a young girl.
She could not have been more than Peggy’s
age, but she carried herself with so much
dignity that she appeared older. Her eyes
were of darkest gray, shaded by intense black
lashes, and starry in their radiance. At
present they held a look of scorn, and her
well set head was tilted in disdain. A wealth
of chestnut hair but slightly powdered clustered
about her face in ringlets, and her complexion
was of such exquisite fairness as to be
dazzling. She was clad in a velvet riding
frock of green, her beaver hat, from which
depended a long plume, matching the gown
in color. Her whole manner and appearance were stamped
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174'></a>174</span>
by a general air of distinction.
</p>
<p>
She advanced at once into the room, apparently
unconscious of the effect that her
beauty was producing.
</p>
<p>
“By what right, sir,” she cried in a clear
musical voice, “do your men stop me in my
journey? I have a pass.”
</p>
<p>
“Let me see it, madam,” said General
Washington quietly. He glanced at the paper
she gave him, and remarked, “This is from
General Maxwell at Elizabethtown. He refers
the matter to me for consideration. May I
ask why so young a female wishes to pass
through our lines?”
</p>
<p>
“I wish to join relatives in Philadelphia,”
she answered. “I travel alone because I
was told that Americans did not make war
on women and girls. It seems that I was
mistaken.”
</p>
<p>
“You are an English girl,” said the general,
ignoring her last remark. “Why do you not
stay with your people in New York?”
</p>
<p>
“Because, sir, I was left in England with
my brother while my father came over with
General Gage to fight the rebels. My brother
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175'></a>175</span>
ran away, so I came to join father. He had
gone to the Southern colonies, and when he
learned that I was here, he wrote me to go
to my relatives. I left New York under a
flag of truce, and came to Elizabethtown.
There I went at once to the general in charge.
Sir, I have complied with every requirement
necessary to pass the lines, and I ask that I
be permitted to resume my journey.”
</p>
<p>
“And what is the name of these relatives?”
asked Washington imperturbably.
</p>
<p>
“Owen, sir. David Owen is my father’s
cousin.”
</p>
<p>
“Why!” exclaimed Peggy, who had been
an amazed listener to the conversation. “Thee
must be my Cousin Harriet!”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176'></a>176</span><a name='chXV' id='chXV'></a>CHAPTER XV—HARRIET</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“Whose&#160;beauty&#160;did&#160;astonish&#160;the&#160;survey</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Of&#160;richest&#160;eyes;&#160;whose&#160;words&#160;all&#160;ears&#160;took&#160;captive;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Whose&#160;dear&#160;perfection&#160;hearts&#160;that&#160;scorn’d&#160;to&#160;serve</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Humbly&#160;call&#160;mistress.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—“<i>All’s&#160;Well&#160;that&#160;Ends&#160;Well.</i>”</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
As if she had just become aware of the
presence of others the girl turned a startled
look upon Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“If you are David Owen’s daughter, then
I am indeed your cousin,” she said slowly
intense surprise in her accents. “And if
you are his daughter, where is your father,
and what do you here? I thought you were
in Philadelphia.”
</p>
<p>
“Father is here,” answered Peggy, starting
forward eagerly. “And thy father is——”
But David Owen laid a restraining hand
upon her arm.
</p>
<p>
“A moment, lass,” he said, a quick glance
flashing between him and General Washington. “Let
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177'></a>177</span>
me speak to the maiden. My
child,” turning to the girl who was regarding
him intently, “thou wilt pardon me, I know,
if I ask thee a few questions. It behooves us
to be careful in times like these, and we but
take precautions that thine own people would
use under like circumstances. Therefore, tell
me thy father’s name, and his regiment.”
</p>
<p>
“By what right do you question me?”
she demanded haughtily.
</p>
<p>
“I am David Owen,” he answered briefly.
“If thou art in truth my kinsman’s daughter
there is no reason why thee should not answer
my questions.”
</p>
<p>
“Ask what you will, if you are Mr. David
Owen, and I will answer,” she said, her manner
changing to one of extreme courtesy.
“My father is William Owen, a colonel of
the Welsh Fusileers. My brother’s name is
Clifford, and I am Harriet. Do you believe
me now, my cousin? Or is there aught else
to be asked?”
</p>
<p>
“Nay,” replied he mildly. “I believe
that thou art truly William’s daughter.”
</p>
<p>
“Then may I place myself under your
protection, cousin?” she queried so appealingly that
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178'></a>178</span>
Peggy’s tender heart could not
bear it, and she went to her quickly. “My
father wished it, and I am a stranger in a
strange land.”
</p>
<p>
“Surely thee may,” exclaimed Mr. Owen,
touched, as his daughter had been, by the
pathetic quiver that had come into her voice.
“That is”—he hastened to add, “if His
Excellency hath no objection?”
</p>
<p>
“I have none, Mr. Owen,” declared General
Washington. “As the young lady hath
proved herself a relative I give her into your
keeping. There could be no better sponsor
for her, sir.”
</p>
<p>
“I thank thee,” said David Owen gravely.
“I will see that thy trust is not misplaced.
And now, sir, we have troubled thee o’er
long, I fear, and will therefore say good-night.”
</p>
<p>
“But not until Mistress Owen tells me
when she and Miss Peggy, together with this
newly found kinswoman, will honor me by
their presence to dinner. Will you have
recovered from the fatigue of your journey
by Monday, Madam Owen?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, Your Excellency. It will afford us
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179'></a>179</span>
great pleasure to dine with thee at that time,”
replied the matron bowing.
</p>
<p>
The courtesies of leave-taking over, David
Owen led the way to the coach.
</p>
<p>
“Take thy seat with us in the vehicle, my
child,” he said to Harriet Owen. “I will
have thy horse sent after us.”
</p>
<p>
“And has thee a horse too?” asked Peggy
as the girl took her place beside her. “Then
we shall have some famous rides, Cousin
Harriet. And what is thy horse’s name?”
</p>
<p>
“Fleetwood. I brought him from England.
He hath been mine from a colt. I have never
had any other, and he will suffer none to ride
him but me.”
</p>
<p>
“Thee thinks of him as I do of Star,”
cried Peggy in delight.
</p>
<p>
“Didst say, my child,” interposed David
Owen after the two maidens had chatted
a while, “that thy brother left thee alone in
England?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, Cousin David. Clifford hath always
been wild for the army, but father would not
hear of his joining it. ’Twas lonesome after
father left us, so I did not blame Clifford for
leaving. A lad of mettle should not stop
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180'></a>180</span>
at home when His Majesty hath need of him
to help put down this rebellion. Your pardon,
cousin. Being English I am all for the
king, you know.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” said Mr. Owen, pleased at her
frankness. “I like thy manner of speaking
of it, Harriet.”
</p>
<p>
“But still, that need be no reason why we
should not be friends,” she said quickly.
“There be those at home who think with the
colonies, and blame them not for rebelling.
It may be that I too shall be of like opinion
after my sojourn with you.”
</p>
<p>
“It may be, Harriet. Have no uneasiness,
my child. If thou art led to our way of thinking
it must be of thine own conviction, and
not from any effort that we shall bring to bear
upon thee. Thou art welcome despite thy
opinions. And didst thou cross the ocean
alone?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes; that is,” she added hastily, “there
was an officer’s wife who was coming to join
her husband. I was with her. When father
learned that I had come, he desired that I
should go to you. He was sure that you
would welcome me despite the difference in
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181'></a>181</span>
politics. And why are you not in Philadelphia?”
</p>
<p>
“I, of course, am with the army,” he replied.
“The custom of campaigning only in the
summer hath the advantage of permitting our
wives and daughters to join us in camp during
the winter; so my wife and Peggy have come
for that time. Thou wilt like it, Harriet; for
there are amusements such as delight the
hearts of maidens. I doubt not but both thee
and my little Peggy will sorrow when ’tis
time to leave it.”
</p>
<p>
“Harriet must be tired, David,” suggested
Mrs. Owen kindly. “Should not further explanation
be deferred until the morrow?”
</p>
<p>
“I mind not the talk, madam, my cousin,”
spoke Harriet, and Mrs. Owen noted instantly
that she used Colonel Owen’s term of addressing
her. “It warms my heart for my cousin
to talk to me.” Again the little tremor came
into her voice as she added: “It makes me
feel more at home.”
</p>
<p>
“Then talk on, my child,” said the lady
gently.
</p>
<p>
So the girl chatted of her father and brother,
her home in England, her voyage across the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182'></a>182</span>
ocean, and other subjects with so much charm
that when at length the coach drew up before
a farmhouse whose sloping roof and low eaves
were but dimly distinguishable in the darkness
Peggy found herself very much taken
with this new cousin.
</p>
<p>
“I could listen to thee all night, Cousin
Harriet,” she exclaimed as her father assisted
them from the coach.
</p>
<p>
“And so could we all,” said David Owen
laughing, plainly as much pleased with the
maiden as was Peggy. “But we are at
quarters, and the rules are that every one
must be in bed at tattoo. That will give us
just time for supper.”
</p>
<p>
And so in spite of the protests of both girls
they were sent to bed in short order.
</p>
<p>
The rides began the very next day, and as
Harriet seemed to be as much interested in
the encampment as Peggy, Mr. Owen took
them through part of it.
</p>
<p>
“’Tis a strong cantonment,” he said.
“There are seven brigades here in the vicinity
of Middlebrook. The main army lies in the
hills back of Bound Brook, near enough to be
called into service instantly if necessary. The
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183'></a>183</span>
artillery under General Knox lies a few miles
away at Pluckemin. The entire force of the
army is scattered from here to Danbury,
Connecticut.”
</p>
<p>
“But why is it so scattered, my cousin?”
inquired Harriet. “Methinks that ’twould
be the part of wisdom to keep the army together?”
</p>
<p>
David Owen laughed.
</p>
<p>
“Would that thou wert Sir Henry Clinton,”
he said. “Then all thy soldiers would stay
in New York instead of being transferred to
the Southern colonies. ’Tis done for two
reasons: the easy subsistence of the army and
the safety of the country.”
</p>
<p>
“But doth it not hem Sir Henry in?” she
demanded. “How can he get through these
lines without fighting?”
</p>
<p>
“That is just it,” said Mr. Owen laughing
again. “Thee will soon be quite a soldier,
Harriet. Here we are at Van Vegthen’s
bridge, which is one of three that crosses the
Raritan. General Greene, who is acting as
quartermaster at present, is encamped here.
He hath his quarters in yon dwelling which
lies to our left. ’Tis Derrick Van Vegthen’s
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184'></a>184</span>
house, and ye will both meet with him and
the general. Mrs. Greene is here, and Mrs.
Knox. Ye will like them. Let us ride
closer. As ye are unaccustomed to camp life
’twill be a novelty to ye to see the men
engaged in their various duties. How busy
they are!”
</p>
<p>
From side to side the maidens turned, eager
to see all that Mr. Owen pointed out. Quite
a village of blacksmith shops, storehouses
and other buildings connected with the
quartermaster’s department had grown up
around the house where General Greene made
his headquarters. On the near-by elevation,
even then called Mt. Pleasant, his brigade was
encamped.
</p>
<p>
As Mr. Owen had said, the scene was a busy
one. A company of soldiers was drilling on
the open parade ground, while of those who
were not on duty some chopped wood which
had been brought from the near-by hills, or
tended fires over which hung large chunks of
meat spitted upon bayonets, while still others
could be seen through the open flaps of the
tents cleaning their accoutrements.
</p>
<p>
“I should think those tents would be cold,”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185'></a>185</span>
remarked Peggy with a slight shiver, for although
the winter’s day was sunlit, the air
was chill.
</p>
<p>
“They are not o’er comfortable, Peggy,” returned
her father. “But does thee not see the
huts that are in process of construction?
General Washington taught the men how to
build them, and they will be comfortably
housed ere long. Note that they are built
without nails, and almost the only tools used
are the axe and saw. ’Tis most marvelous
that such comfortable and convenient quarters
can be made with such little expense to the
people.”
</p>
<p>
“The marvel to me,” remarked Harriet
Owen thoughtfully, “is that such ill-clad, ill-fed
looking troops can stand against our soldiers.
Why hath not the British swept them
down like chaff before the wind? ’Tis past
understanding.”
</p>
<p>
“Because their cause is a righteous one,”
said David Owen solemnly. “And because,
also, what thou art in the way of forgetting,
my little cousin: they are of thine own blood,
and therefore fight with the spirit of Englishmen.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186'></a>186</span>
</p>
<p>
“English?” she exclaimed. “English! I
had not thought of that, my cousin.”
</p>
<p>
“Consider our case,” he said. “Thou art
of the same blood as ourselves. Doth it make
a difference in the stock because thou dost
happen to live in England, while Peggy there
lives in America?”
</p>
<p>
“I had not thought of it in that way,” she
said again. “I think the English have not
considered it either. I would talk more of
the matter, Cousin David, but not now. I
have much to think of now. But do you not
fear that I shall tell the British about this
camp?” added Harriet smiling.
</p>
<p>
“No, my child. Thou wilt not have opportunity,”
observed Mr. Owen. “Does thee not
know that once being with us there can be no
returning to New York? There can be no
passing and repassing to the city.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh,” she cried in dismay. “I did not
know. Can I not return if I should wish to?”
</p>
<p>
“Not unless thou hadst been away from the
army for a long time,” he answered.
</p>
<p>
“But suppose, suppose father should come?”
</p>
<p>
“Even then thee would have to stay with
us until such time that it was deemed advisable for
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187'></a>187</span>
thee to return. So thee sees, Harriet,
that the rebels, as thee calls them, will have
the pleasure of thy company for some time to
come.”
</p>
<p>
“I see,” she said. Presently she threw her
head back and gave way to a peal of musical
laughter. “There is but one thing to do,
Cousin David,” she cried. “And that is to
become a patriot myself.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188'></a>188</span><a name='chXVI' id='chXVI'></a>CHAPTER XVI—THE TWO WARNINGS</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“Though&#160;your&#160;prognostics&#160;run&#160;too&#160;fast,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>They&#160;must&#160;be&#160;verified&#160;at&#160;last.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>Swift.</i></p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
“And here is some one to see thee, Peggy,”
said Mrs. Owen a week later, coming into the
little chamber under the eaves which the two
maidens occupied in common. “Bring thy
cousin and come down.”
</p>
<p>
“Is it John, mother?” asked Peggy, letting
her tambour frame fall to the floor. “I wondered
why we did not see him.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, ’tis John, Peggy, though he is called
Ensign Drayton here. Perhaps ’twould be as
well for us to term him so, too.”
</p>
<p>
“Come, Harriet,” called Peggy rising.
“Let us run down. ’Tis our first caller.”
</p>
<p>
“And being a soldier let us prepare for
him,” said the English girl, reaching for a
box. “What would we females be without
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189'></a>189</span>
powder? ’Tis as necessary to us as to a soldier,
for ’tis as priming to our looks as ’tis to
a gun. There! will I do, Peggy?”
</p>
<p>
“Thee is beautiful, my cousin,” replied
Peggy with warm admiration. “Thee does
not need powder nor anything else to set off
thy looks.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, well,” laughed the maiden, plainly
gratified by her cousin’s remark, “’tis as well
to be in the mode when one can. And I wish
to do you honor, my cousin.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, John,” cried Peggy as she entered the
parlor, where young Drayton stood twirling
his cocked beaver airily. “That I should live
to see thee wearing the white cockade of the
Parley-voos on thy hat. What hath happened?”
</p>
<p>
“The most wonderful thing in the world,
Mistress Peggy,” answered Drayton reddening
slightly at her raillery. “General Washington
hath said that if my behavior warranted
it he would put me with the Marquis de La
Fayette’s brigade upon his return from France.
As ’tis to be a picked corps of men ’tis most
gratifying to one’s vanity to be so chosen.
And in compliment to my prospective commander I am
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190'></a>190</span>
wearing the white cockade with
our own black.”
</p>
<p>
“I am so glad,” exclaimed Peggy. “Thee
is making us proud of thee. Father said that
there was no soldier more faithful to duty than
thou. This is my cousin from England, John.
Mistress Harriet Owen, Ensign Drayton.”
</p>
<p>
“Your servant, madam,” said Ensign Drayton
with a sweeping bow, which Harriet returned
with a deep curtsey.
</p>
<p>
“Ah, Drayton,” said David Owen, entering
at this juncture. “The lassies are wild to see
the camp. Canst thou ride, ensign?”
</p>
<p>
“That is how I made Miss Peggy’s acquaintance,
sir,” said young Drayton
frankly.
</p>
<p>
“Ah, yes; I had forgot, my boy. I was
thinking that perhaps thou couldst join us in
our rides, and when it would not be possible
for me to be with the girls thou couldst escort
them.”
</p>
<p>
“I should be pleased, sir,” answered Ensign
Drayton. “The country hereabouts is well
adapted to riding as ’tis much diversified.
The roads, though narrow, are through woods
and dales, and are most beautiful. I have
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191'></a>191</span>
been over the most of them, and know them
well.”
</p>
<p>
“Then thou art the very one to go with us,”
said Mr. Owen. “Now, my lad, answer any
questions those camp wild maidens may ask
and I will improve my well-earned repose by
perusing the ‘Pennsylvania Packet.’ A new
one hath just reached me.”
</p>
<p>
“Wilt pardon me if I say something, Mistress
Peggy?” inquired young Drayton an
hour later as Harriet left the room for a moment.
</p>
<p>
“Why yes, John,” answered Peggy. “What
is it?”
</p>
<p>
“It is to be careful of your cousin,” said
the boy earnestly. “I like not the fact that
she is English and here in camp. She means
harm, I fear.”
</p>
<p>
“Why, John Drayton,” exclaimed the girl
indignantly. “Just because she is English
doth not make her intend any hurt toward
us. I am ashamed of thee, John, that thee
should imagine any such thing of one so sweet
and good as my cousin, Harriet. And is she
not beautiful?”
</p>
<p>
“She is indeed very beautiful,” he answered.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192'></a>192</span>
“Pardon me, mistress, if I have wounded you,
but still do I say, be careful. If she intends
no hurt to any, either the camp or you, there
still can be no harm in being careful.”
</p>
<p>
“John, almost could I be vexed with thee,”
cried Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“Don’t be that, Miss Peggy. I may be
wrong. Of course I am all wrong if you say
otherwise,” he said pleadingly. “I spoke only
out of kindness for you.”
</p>
<p>
“There, there, John! we will say no more
about it; but thee must not hint such things,”
said Peggy. And Drayton took his departure.
</p>
<p>
“Mother,” cried Peggy several days after
this incident when she had returned from the
ride which had become a daily institution,
“mother, John is becoming rude. I don’t
believe that I like him any more.”
</p>
<p>
“Why, what hath occurred, Peggy?” asked
Mrs. Owen, glancing at her daughter’s flushed
face anxiously. “Thy father and I are both
much pleased with the lad. What hath he
done?”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis about Harriet,” answered Peggy, sinking
into a chair by her mothers side. “The
first time he came he cautioned me to be careful because
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193'></a>193</span>
of her being here. I forgave him
on condition that he should never mention
anything of like nature again. And but now,
while we were riding, Harriet stopped to
speak for a moment to a soldier, and he said:
’I don’t like that, Mistress Peggy. Why
should she speak to that man? This must
be looked into.’ And, mother, he wished to
question Harriet then and there, but I would
not let him. He is monstrously provoking!”
</p>
<p>
“Well, does thee know why she spoke to
the soldier?” asked her mother quietly.
</p>
<p>
“Mother!” Peggy sat bolt upright in the
chair, and turned a reproachful glance upon
the lady. “Thee too? Why, Harriet told
me but yesterday that she was becoming more
and more of the opinion that the colonists
were right in rebelling against the king. And
is she not beautiful, mother?”
</p>
<p>
“Thou art quite carried away with her,
Peggy,” observed Mrs. Owen thoughtfully.
“Thou and thy father likewise. As thee
says, Harriet’s manner to us is quite different
to that which her father used. But William,
whatever his faults, was an open enemy for
the most part, and I like open enemies best.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194'></a>194</span>
I cannot believe that an English girl would
so soon change her convictions regarding
us.”
</p>
<p>
“Mother,” cried Peggy in open-eyed amaze,
“I never knew thee to be suspicious of any
one before. Thou hast been talking with
John. What hath come to thee?”
</p>
<p>
“I have said no word concerning the matter
to John; nor will I, Peggy. ’Tis not so
much suspicion as caution. But now I heard
her ask thy father if there were but the three
bridges across the Raritan, and if ’twere not
fordable. Why should she wish to know such
things?”
</p>
<p>
“Did thee ask father about it, mother?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes.”
</p>
<p>
“And what said he?”
</p>
<p>
“He feared that because of William’s actions
I might be prejudiced against her. He
thought it quite natural for her to take an interest
in military affairs, and said that she
asked no more questions concerning them
than thou didst. Beside, he said, she was
such a child that no possible harm could
come of it.”
</p>
<p>
“Belike it is because of Cousin William
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195'></a>195</span>
that thee does not feel easy, mother,” said
Peggy much relieved.
</p>
<p>
“It may be,” admitted the lady. “Yet I
would that she had not come. I would not
have thee less sweet and kind to her, my
daughter, but I agree with John that it can
do no harm to be careful. Watch, my child,
that thou art not led into something that may
work harm to thee.”
</p>
<p>
“I will be careful,” promised Peggy, adding
with playfulness: “As careful as though I
did not have thee and father to watch over
me, or the army with General Washington
right here. Let me see! Seven brigades, are
there not? To say nothing of the artillery
and four regiments of cavalry variously stationed,
and I know not how many brigades
along the Hudson and the Sound. There!
thou seest that I am as well versed in the disposition
of the army as Harriet is.”
</p>
<p>
“Is thee trying to flout thy mother,
Peggy?” asked Mrs. Owen laughing in spite
of herself. “I may in truth be over-anxious
and fearful, but ’tis strange that John feels so
too. As thee says, it does seem as though
naught could happen with the whole army
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196'></a>196</span>
lying so near. Still I have the feeling that
harm threatens through the English girl.”
</p>
<p>
But the days passed, and the time brought
no change to Harriet’s manner. She remained
affectionately deferent to Mr. Owen, full of
respectful courtesy toward Mrs. Owen, and
had adopted a playful comradeship toward
Peggy that was charming. The good lady’s
reserve was quite melted at length, and she
became as devoted to the girl as her husband
and daughter.
</p>
<p>
With girlish enthusiasm the maidens regulated
their own days by that of the camp.
They rose with the beating of the reveille, reported
to Mrs. Owen as officer of the day for
assignments of duty, and, much to her amusement,
saluted her respectfully when given
tasks of knitting or sewing. When the retreat
sounded at sunset they announced their
whereabouts by a loud, “Here,” as the soldiers
answered to roll call, and, unless there
was some merrymaking at one of the various
headquarters, went to bed at the beating of
tattoo.
</p>
<p>
Lady Washington joined her husband in
February, and there was an added dignity to
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197'></a>197</span>
the kettledrums and merrymakings in consequence.
Better conditions prevailed throughout
the camp than had obtained at Valley
Forge the preceding winter. The army was
at last comfortably hutted. The winter was
mild, no snow falling after the tenth of January.
Supplies were coming in with some
degree of plenitude, and the outlook favored
rejoicing and entertainment.
</p>
<p>
But life was not all given up to amusement.
The women met together, and mended the
soldiers’ clothes, made them shirts and socks
whenever cloth and yarn were to be had,
visited the cabins, carrying delicacies from their
own tables for the sick, and did everything
they could to ameliorate the lot of the soldier.
</p>
<p>
After a few such visits to the huts Harriet
made a protest.
</p>
<p>
“I like not common soldiers,” she explained
to Peggy. “I mind not the sewing, though
I do not understand why Americans deem it
necessary to always be so industrious. ’Tis
as though they felt that they must earn their
pleasures before taking them.”
</p>
<p>
“Are not ladies in England industrious
too?” inquired Peggy.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198'></a>198</span>
</p>
<p>
“They look after their households, of course,
my cousin. And they paint flowers, or landscapes,
and the tambour frame is seldom out
of the hand when one is not practicing on the
spinet, but they do not concern themselves
with the welfare of the common soldiers as
your women do.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Harriet,” laughed Peggy. “Thee
has said that before, but thee does not practice
what thee preaches.”
</p>
<p>
“What mean you?” demanded Harriet
with a startled look.
</p>
<p>
“I have seen thee several times give something
to a common soldier, as thee calls him.
Yesterday when we were leaving General
Greene’s I saw thee slip something to one
when he came forward to tighten Fleetwood’s
girth. John saw it too.”
</p>
<p>
“I had forgot,” remarked the girl carelessly.
“Yes; I did give him a bit of money.
Methinks he hath rendered us several services
of like nature, Peggy, when something hath
gone amiss. Yet it may not have been the
same soldier. I scarce can tell one from
another, there are so many.”
</p>
<p>
“Thee has a good heart,” commended Peggy
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199'></a>199</span>
warmly. “Mother says that ’tis the only way
to do a kindness. Perform the deed, and then
forget it. But I always remember.”
</p>
<p>
“Does Cousin David ride with us to-day, or
doth the ensign?” asked Harriet.
</p>
<p>
“’Tis John, my cousin. Father is on duty.”
</p>
<p>
“I am sorry,” said Harriet. “I do not like
Ensign Drayton. He reminds me of a song
they sing at home:
</p>
<p>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“‘With&nbsp;&nbsp;little&nbsp;&nbsp;hat&nbsp;&nbsp;and&nbsp;&nbsp;hair&nbsp;&nbsp;dressed&nbsp;&nbsp;high,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And&nbsp;&nbsp;whip&nbsp;&nbsp;to&nbsp;&nbsp;ride&nbsp;&nbsp;a&nbsp;&nbsp;pony;<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;If&nbsp;&nbsp;you&nbsp;&nbsp;but&nbsp;&nbsp;take&nbsp;&nbsp;a&nbsp;&nbsp;right&nbsp;&nbsp;survey<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Denotes&nbsp;&nbsp;a&nbsp;&nbsp;macaroni,’”<br />
</p>
<p>
she trilled musically. “Now don’t say anything,
Peggy. I know he is considered a lad of
parts. I heard two officers say that he would
no doubt distinguish himself ere the war was
over. ’Twas at Mrs. Knox’s kettledrum.”
</p>
<p>
“Now I must tell mother that,” cried
Peggy, her momentary vexation at Harriet’s
song vanishing. “He is our especial soldier.”
</p>
<p>
“Is he? And why?” asked Harriet.
“Nay,” she added as Peggy hesitated. “’Tis
no matter. I knew not that it was a secret.
I care not. I like him not, anyway. Peggy,
do you like me very much?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200'></a>200</span>
</p>
<p>
“I do indeed, Harriet,” answered Peggy
earnestly. “Why?”
</p>
<p>
“I am just heart-sick to hear from my
father,” said Harriet, the tears welling up into
her beautiful eyes. “It hath been so long since
I heard. Not at all since I came, so long ago.”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis hard to get letters through the lines,”
said Peggy soberly.
</p>
<p>
“I know it is, for I have tried,” answered
Harriet. “The officers won’t send them. If
you were away from Cousin David wouldn’t
you make every effort to hear from him?”
</p>
<p>
“Indeed I would,” responded Peggy.
“Harriet, has thee asked father to help thee?
He would take the matter to General Washington.”
</p>
<p>
“General Washington does not wish to do
it because I am British,” answered Harriet
after a moment. “I know that they must be
careful, but oh! I am so anxious anent my
father, Cousin Peggy.”
</p>
<p>
“That is just as mother and I were about
father last winter,” observed Peggy. “At
last Robert Dale wrote us that he was a
prisoner in Philadelphia, and I rode into the
city to see him.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201'></a>201</span>
</p>
<p>
“Was that when father was exchanged for
him?” questioned the girl eagerly.
</p>
<p>
“Y-yes,” hesitated Peggy. She did not
like to tell Harriet what effort had to be made
to get the exchange.
</p>
<p>
“Peggy, he helped you anent Cousin David
then; will you help me about my father?”
</p>
<p>
“How could I, Harriet?” asked Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“If you will just hand this note to that
soldier that you saw me give the money to
yesterday he will get it through the lines.
Nay,” as Peggy opened her lips to speak.
“You shall read it first. I would do nothing
unless you should see that ’twas all right.
Read, my cousin.”
</p>
<p>
She thrust a note into Peggy’s hand as she
spoke.
</p>
<p>
“Miss Harriet Owen presents compliments
to Sir Henry Clinton, and would esteem it a
favor if he would tell her how Colonel William
Owen is. A word that he is well is all
that is desired. I have the honor, sir, to be,
</p>
<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>“Your humble and obliged servant,</p>
<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>“<span class='sc'>Harriet Owen</span>.</p>
<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>&#160;</p>
<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>“<i>Middlebrook, New Jersey</i>,</p>
<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'><i>Headquarters American Army.</i>”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202'></a>202</span></div>
<p>
“Why, there ought to be no objection to
getting that through,” exclaimed Peggy.
“Harriet, let me ask father——”
</p>
<p>
“I have asked him,” said Harriet mournfully.
“He would if he could, Peggy. He
wishes me not to speak of it again, and I
promised I would try to content myself without
hearing from father. You must not speak
of it either; else Cousin David will be angry
with me for not trying to be content.”
</p>
<p>
“Don’t cry, Harriet,” pleaded Peggy, as the
girl commenced to sob, and her own tears
began to flow. “Something can be done, I
know. Thee ought to hear from Cousin
William.”
</p>
<p>
“Cousin David said I must be content,”
sobbed Harriet. “And he hath been so good
to me that I must; though ’tis very hard not
to hear. I see that you do not wish to
do it, Peggy. I meant no wrong to any,
but——”
</p>
<p>
“How does thee know that the soldier
could get the note through the lines, Harriet?”
asked Peggy thoughtfully.
</p>
<p>
“He said that he was to have leave to go
to Elizabethtown for a few days, and while
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203'></a>203</span>
there he could do it,” said Harriet, looking up
through her tears.
</p>
<p>
“Why does thee not give it to him, then?”
inquired Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“It must be given to him to-day,” answered
the other, “because he goes to-morrow. If
Cousin David were to ride with us I would,
but Ensign Drayton always watches me as
though I were in communication with the
enemy, and about to bring the whole British
force right down upon us. You know he
does, Peggy.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy flushed guiltily.
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” she admitted, “he doth, Harriet. I
knew not that thee was aware of it, though.”
</p>
<p>
“Give me the note,” said Harriet, rising
suddenly. “As my father helped you to your
father I thought you would aid me, but I
see——”
</p>
<p>
“Nay,” said Peggy, her gentle heart not
proof against the insinuation of ingratitude.
“Give me the note, Harriet. I will give it
to the man. I see not how it can bring harm
to any, and thee ought to hear from thy
father.”
</p>
<p>
“How good you are, Peggy,” cried Harriet,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204'></a>204</span>
kissing her. “Here is the note. If I can
only hear this once I will be content until
such time as Cousin David deems best. You
are very sweet, my cousin.”
</p>
<p>
And under the influence of this effusiveness
Peggy saw not that the note her cousin
handed to her was not the one which she had
read.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205'></a>205</span><a name='chXVII' id='chXVII'></a>CHAPTER XVII—A LETTER AND A SURPRISE</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“Oh,&#160;never&#160;shall&#160;we&#160;know&#160;again</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;&#160;A&#160;heart&#160;so&#160;stout&#160;and&#160;true—</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>The&#160;olden&#160;times&#160;have&#160;passed&#160;away,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;&#160;And&#160;weary&#160;are&#160;the&#160;new.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>Aytoun.</i></p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
“Governor Livingston will dine with us
to-day, Peggy,” remarked Mrs. Owen as Peggy
and Harriet came down the stairs equipped
for their ride. “Be not too long away, for
thy father will wish you both here.”
</p>
<p>
“Is he the rebel governor of the Jerseys?”
asked Harriet abruptly. “The one for whom
two thousand guineas are offered—for his capture?”
</p>
<p>
“He is the patriot governor of the state,
Harriet,” answered Mrs. Owen mildly. “We
do not call such rebels. As to the reward I
know not. I had not heard of such amount
being offered, although ’tis well known that
he is held in particular abhorrence by both
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206'></a>206</span>
the Tories and thy people. Perhaps David
can inform thee concerning the affair.”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis no matter,” spoke Harriet hastily. “I
dare say that I have confused him with another.
Peggy, hath my beaver the proper tilt
to show the feather? It should sweep to the
right shoulder.”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis most becoming,” answered Peggy, after
a critical survey. “Thee looks as charming
as ever, Harriet.”
</p>
<p>
“Vanity, vanity,” laughed her cousin.
“Shall we go for the ride now?”
</p>
<p>
Ensign Drayton rode into the yard just as
their horses were brought to the block for the
girls to mount. To Peggy’s surprise the same
private soldier to whom she was to give the
note had them in charge. As Harriet vaulted
lightly into her saddle he left Fleetwood’s
head and went round to the horse’s side.
</p>
<p>
“That will do, sirrah,” spoke young Drayton
sharply. “I will attend to the strap.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy glanced at him quickly. “John
grows unmannerly,” she thought to herself.
“Now what did the poor man do amiss?
Friend,” she called as the soldier saluted and
turned to leave, her voice showing her indignation,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207'></a>207</span>
“friend, thee shall fix Star’s girth
if it needs it.”
</p>
<p>
“Thank you, miss,” he said, saluting again.
He tightened the strap deftly, and the girl
put her hand in her purse for a small coin.
As she did so her fingers touched the note
that Harriet had given her, and she bent
toward him suddenly.
</p>
<p>
“Thee was to take a letter, was thee not?”
she asked.
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” he replied, a look of astonishment
flashing across his face.
</p>
<p>
“It is here, friend,” said she, giving him
the missive. “I hope thee can get it through,
for my cousin is sore beset with grief for
news of her father. And there is money for
thee. Thou art a good man, and hast a kind
heart.”
</p>
<p>
“Thank you,” he said saluting, and Peggy
could not have told how he concealed the
note, it was done so adroitly.
</p>
<p>
“Why did thee speak so sharply to him,
John?” she queried when at length they had
started.
</p>
<p>
“Those girths should be attended to before
bringing the horses round,” he answered.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208'></a>208</span>
“’Tis done to get money from you girls. He
never sees us but that he comes forward under
some pretense of doing a service. I like not
his actions. How doth it come that he is
attending the horses? He is not your father’s
man.”
</p>
<p>
“I know not,” answered Peggy. “Doth it
really matter? Fie, fie, John! thee is cross.
I never saw thee so before.”
</p>
<p>
“Your pardon,” said the lad contritely.
“I meant not to be so, but men require sharp
treatment, and perchance I have brought my
parade manner with me.”
</p>
<p>
The girls laughed, but a constraint seemed
to be over all three. Harriet was unusually
silent, and Peggy, though conscious of no
wrong-doing, was ill at ease.
</p>
<p>
The feeling was intensified as, when they
had gone some distance, young Drayton
wheeled his horse suddenly.
</p>
<p>
“Let us go back,” he said abruptly.
</p>
<p>
“Why?” exclaimed both girls simultaneously,
but even as they spoke they saw the
reason. A few rods in front of them, suspended
from the limb of a tree, hung the
limp body of a man.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209'></a>209</span>
</p>
<p>
“Is it a spy?” whispered Peggy shudderingly.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, Mistress Peggy. I knew not that the
execution would take place on this road, else
I would have chosen another for the ride.
’Tis not a pleasing sight.”
</p>
<p>
“Is thee ill, Harriet?” cried Peggy, all at
once happening to glance at her cousin who
had no color in her face.
</p>
<p>
“Ill? No,” answered Harriet with an attempt
at carelessness. “I am chilled; that
is all. Then, too, as the ensign says, yon
sight is not a pretty one. Methinks such
service must be extremely hazardous.”
</p>
<p>
“It is, mistress,” said Drayton sternly.
“So perilous is it that the man, woman, or
girl even who enters upon it does so at the
risk of life. No mercy is shown a spy. Nor
should there be.”
</p>
<p>
“And yet,” she said growing paler still,
“spies are used by your own general, sir. It
is a parlous mission, but he who enters upon
it serves his country as truly as though”—she
laughed, flung up her head and looked
him straight in the face—“as though he
were an ensign,” she finished mockingly.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210'></a>210</span>
</p>
<p>
“She has thee, John,” cried Peggy gaily.
“But a truce to such talk. ’Tis gruesome, is
it not? Let us converse upon more pleasing
subjects.”
</p>
<p>
“Methinks,” said Drayton briefly, “’twould
be as well to return, Mistress Peggy. The
ride hath been spoiled for the day.”
</p>
<p>
But a shadow seemed over them, and
neither girl recovered her accustomed spirits
until some hours later when they went into
dinner.
</p>
<p>
“Now by my life, David,” cried William
Livingston, the great war governor of New
Jersey, as the maidens were presented. “Now
by my life, these girls take not after you, else
they would not be such beauties. They must
meet with my daughters. I had three,” he
said turning to Peggy. “The Livingston
Graces, some called them, but one grew tired
of being a nymph and so became a bird.
Nay; be not alarmed,” he added as a puzzled
look flashed across Peggy’s face, “she but
married John Jay. ’Tis a joke of mine.
And this is the cousin from across the sea
who bids fair to become our more than sympathizer?
Wilt pardon me if I say that
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211'></a>211</span>
were I British I’d never relinquished to the
rebels so fair a compatriot?”
</p>
<p>
“Perchance, sir,” replied Harriet, sweeping
him an elaborate curtsey, and assuming the
gracious manner which was one of her charms,
“perchance if you were on the other side I
would not wish to be relinquished.”
</p>
<p>
“That is apt,” he responded with a hearty
laugh. “What think you, David? Are not
the honors evenly divided betwixt this young
lady and myself? I must be wary in my
speech.”
</p>
<p>
“And are you at Liberty Hall this winter?”
she asked him presently.
</p>
<p>
“Yes; thanks to Maxwell’s brigade, I am
permitted this enjoyment. Were he not stationed
at Elizabethtown, however, I could not
be with my dear ones. ’Tis the first time in
three years that I have had the privilege.
Hath General Washington returned from
Philadelphia, David?”
</p>
<p>
“He hath been back for some time,” answered
Mr. Owen. “Since the first of the
month, in fact. ’Twas dull here without
him.”
</p>
<p>
“I like him better than any other one of
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212'></a>212</span>
your people whom I have met, my cousin,”
declared Harriet after the governor had taken
his departure. “I have heard much of Liberty
Hall, Cousin David. I am curious anent
it. Where is it?”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis a mile northwest of Elizabethtown,
Harriet,” answered he. “A wonderful place it
is. The governor hath sent abroad and obtained
hundreds of trees to adorn the grounds.
’Tis his lament, however, that he will not
live to see them grown. He is a wonderful
man also. ’Tis no marvel that thee is pleased
with him. His daughters are most charming,
and will be agreeable acquaintances for thee
and Peggy. We will go there soon.”
</p>
<p>
“But tell me how to get to the Hall,
please,” she teased. “I want to know exactly.”
</p>
<p>
“Exactly,” he laughed. “Well, well, Harriet,
I will do my best; though why thee
should want to know exactly is beyond me.”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis fancy,” she said laughing also. “And
thee always indulges my fancies, Cousin
David. Doesn’t thee now?”
</p>
<p>
“Whenever thee uses that speech, my child,
I cannot resist thee,” he answered. And
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213'></a>213</span>
forthwith sat down by the table and drew for
her a map showing just where the road to
Liberty Hall turned from the Morris turnpike.
</p>
<p>
“Drayton and I are both on duty to-day,”
announced Mr. Owen the next morning. “If
you ride, lassies, it must be without escort,
unless I can find some one to go with you.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, do let us go alone, Cousin David,”
pleaded Harriet. “Peggy and I have gone so
a few times. There is nothing to harm us.”
</p>
<p>
“I see not how harm could befall you so
long as you stay within the lines,” said Mr.
Owen indulgently. “But it shall be as Lowry
says.”
</p>
<p>
“And what say you, madam my cousin?”
The girl turned toward the lady with pretty
deference.
</p>
<p>
“Could not the ride go over for one day?”
asked she. “I like not for you to ride alone.”
</p>
<p>
“’Twill be good for Peggy,” spoke Harriet
with an air of concern. “She is not well
to-day.”
</p>
<p>
“Is thee not, my daughter?” asked Mrs.
Owen. “Thee is pale.”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis nothing to wherrit over, mother,”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214'></a>214</span>
spoke Peggy cheerfully. “I did not sleep well,
that is all. Almost do I believe with Doctor
Franklin that the windows should be raised
in a sleeping-room, though none but he advocates
such a thing.”
</p>
<p>
“Doctor Franklin advocates naught but
what he hath proved by experience to be
good,” declared Mr. Owen, rising. “He is a
philosopher who profits by his own teaching.
I think ’twould be best for the girls to go,
wife.”
</p>
<p>
“Then, by all means, go,” decided Mrs.
Owen. “But start earlier than usual, so as
to be back long before the retreat sounds;
else I shall be uneasy.”
</p>
<p>
“We will do that, mother,” promised Peggy.
And as soon as the morning tasks were finished
the maidens set forth.
</p>
<p>
“Are you not glad that we are alone to-day?”
asked Harriet, when they had ridden
a while. “I tire of even Cousin David. Do
you not?”
</p>
<p>
“Why, no!” exclaimed Peggy in surprise.
“I would rather have father with us. I do
not see how any one could tire of him.”
</p>
<p>
Harriet made no reply to this speech, and
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215'></a>215</span>
the two rode for some distance in silence.
The February day was chill and gray, the
roads slushy, but the outdoor life they had
led rendered the maidens hardy, and they did
not mind the dampness.
</p>
<p>
“Why!” ejaculated Harriet suddenly.
“Aren’t we on the Elizabethtown turnpike?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” said Peggy glancing about. “I
knew not that we had come so far. We must
turn back, Harriet. Mother said that she
would be uneasy if we were not there before
the sounding of the retreat, and the afternoons
are so short. ’Twill be time for it before we
know it.”
</p>
<p>
“I’ll tell you what, Peggy,” cried her
cousin. “Let’s go by Liberty Hall.”
</p>
<p>
“It is too late,” answered Peggy. “Thee
must know that it is all of twenty miles to
Elizabethtown, and though we have ridden a
goodly part of the distance ’twould be more
than we could do to-day. There and back,
Harriet, is not to be thought of.”
</p>
<p>
“Well, I am going, anyway,” exclaimed
Harriet with more petulance than Peggy had
ever seen her exhibit. “So there!”
</p>
<p>
She struck Fleetwood a sharp blow with her
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216'></a>216</span>
riding crop as she spoke, and set off at speed
down the road. Too much surprised to do
more than call after her, Peggy drew rein, undecided
what course to pursue. As she did so
her eye was caught by a folded paper lying in
the roadway. Now this had fallen from
Harriet’s person as her horse started off unnoticed
by either girl.
</p>
<p>
“That’s a letter!” exclaimed Peggy as she
saw it. “Some one must have dropped it.
Could it have been Harriet? I’ll get it and
tease her anent the matter.”
</p>
<p>
Smiling roguishly she dismounted and
picked up the missive. Somewhat to her
amazement there was no address, and opening
the epistle she found neither address nor
signature.
</p>
<p>
“How monstrously queer!” she cried,
turning it about. “Why, why,” as her glance
rested almost unconsciously upon the writing,
“what does it mean?” For with deepening
amazement this is what she read:
</p>
<p>
“Your information opportune. An attempt
will be made on the night of the twenty-fourth
to surprise brigade at Elizabethtown, and to
take the old rebel at L—— H——. Reward
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217'></a>217</span>
will be yours if successful. Can you be near at
hand so as to be taken yourself?”
</p>
<p>
“The brigade at Elizabethtown is General
Maxwell’s,” mused Peggy thoughtfully.
“Then the old rebel must be Governor Livingston
of Liberty Hall. The twenty-fourth?
Why, ’tis to-day!” she cried in consternation.
“Oh! what must I do? ’Tis past four of the
clock now.”
</p>
<p>
She looked about dazedly as though seeking
guidance. But with Peggy a need of
decision usually brought quick result, and it
was so in this instance. It was but a moment
before her resolve was taken.
</p>
<p>
“I must just ride there and tell him, and
then warn the garrison,” she said aloud.
“’Tis the only thing to do.”
</p>
<p>
Mounting Star, she shook the reins and
started. Before she had gone a dozen rods, however,
here came Harriet riding back full tilt.
</p>
<p>
“Where are you going?” she called. “That
is not the way to Bound Brook.”
</p>
<p>
“I know, Harriet,” replied Peggy without
stopping. “I am going to Liberty Hall. An
attempt will be made to-night to capture the
governor. He must be warned.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218'></a>218</span>
</p>
<p>
“How know you that such attempt will be
made?” asked her cousin, riding up beside her.
“Are you daft, Peggy?”
</p>
<p>
“Nay; I found a letter in the road saying
so,” explained Peggy. “Will thee come too,
Harriet? And there is no time for chat. We
must hasten. Perhaps though thee would better
ride back to tell mother.”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis indelicate for females to meddle
in such matters,” cried Harriet excitedly.
“Think how froward your father will think
you, Peggy. Wait! we will go back to
camp, and send relief from there, as doth become
maidens.”
</p>
<p>
“It could not reach the garrison in time, as
thee knows,” returned Peggy, keeping steadily
on her way. “Do not talk, Harriet. We must
ride fast.” The letter was still in her hand.
</p>
<p>
“Let me see the letter,” said Harriet.
“Where did you get it? It could not have
been long in the road, for ’tis not muddy.
Who could have dropped it?”
</p>
<p>
“Harriet, thee is detaining me with thy
clatter,” spoke Peggy with some sharpness.
“Thee has seen the letter, and know
now the need for action. Either come
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219'></a>219</span>
with me or ride back to camp. We must
act.”
</p>
<p>
“You shall not go,” exclaimed Harriet
reaching over, and catching hold of Star’s
bridle. “’Tis some joke, and beside, your
mother will be waiting for us. Come back!”
</p>
<p>
Peggy drew rein and faced her cousin with
sudden suspicion. “Harriet,” she said, “is
that letter thine?”
</p>
<p>
“Mine?” Harriet laughed shrilly. “How
could it be mine? I was not anywhere near
when you found it. Besides, I never saw the
governor until yesterday. How could I be
concerned in his capture then?”
</p>
<p>
“True,” said Peggy with brightening face.
“Thy pardon, my cousin. Thy actions were
so queer that for a moment I could but
wonder.”
</p>
<p>
“And now we are going right back to the
camp,” cried Harriet gaily. “That will show
that you are sorry for such thoughts. Why,
Peggy, you are getting as bad as John
Drayton.”
</p>
<p>
“Nay,” said Peggy drawing her rein from
her cousin’s clasp. “I am sorry that I wronged
thee, Harriet, but neither thee nor any one
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220'></a>220</span>
shall detain me from going to Governor Livingston
and the garrison. Do as thou wilt
in the matter. I am going.”
</p>
<p>
For the second time in her life she struck
her pony sharply. The little mare reared, and
then settling, dashed off in a gallop. She did
not look to see whether her cousin was following
her or not. On she rode. The February
slush spattered from Star’s flying hoofs, and
covered her from head to foot, but she did not
notice. The daily rides had familiarized her
with the road to Elizabethtown, and the minute
description given by her father to Harriet
the night before now enabled her to head unerringly
for the governor’s mansion. The
short winter day was drawing to a close when
all at once she became aware that there was
the sound of hoofs behind her.
</p>
<p>
The sound increased. Presently she felt the
hot breath of a horse upon her face, and just
as she turned from the Morris turnpike into
Livingston Lane, at the end of which stood
the governor’s country seat, Fleetwood, running
as a deer runs in leaps and bounds,
dashed past her, with Harriet urging him to
greater endeavor.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221'></a>221</span>
</p>
<p>
Before Peggy was half-way down the lane
Harriet had reached the great house, sprung
from her saddle and was pounding vigorously
upon its portals.
</p>
<p>
“Fly, fly,” she cried, as the governor himself
came to the door. “The British are coming
to take you. Peggy will tell you all. I
must warn the garrison.”
</p>
<p>
She was on Fleetwood’s back again by the
time she had finished speaking, and was off
before either the astonished governor or the
dumbfounded Peggy could utter a word.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222'></a>222</span><a name='chXVIII' id='chXVIII'></a>CHAPTER XVIII—STOLEN THUNDER</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“When&#160;breach&#160;of&#160;faith&#160;joined&#160;hearts&#160;does&#160;disengage,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>The&#160;calmest&#160;temper&#160;turns&#160;to&#160;wildest&#160;rage.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—Lee.</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
“And what is it all about, my child?” inquired
the governor as Harriet disappeared
down the lane.
</p>
<p>
“She spoke the truth, sir,” said Peggy, trying
to recover from the intense amazement
into which Harriet’s conduct had thrown her.
“Here is a letter—nay, my cousin must have
kept it,” she ended after a hasty search.
</p>
<p>
“She wished to show it to General Maxwell,
I make no doubt,” he said. “Canst remember
the contents?”
</p>
<p>
“I think so, sir,” answered Peggy, who was
herself again. The thing to do was to explain
the warning to the governor. The affair with
Harriet could be adjusted afterward. “It
said that an attempt would be made to surprise
the brigade at Elizabethtown on the twenty-fourth,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223'></a>223</span>
sir, which is to-night. Also that an
effort would be made to captivate the old
rebel at L—— H——, which must have
meant thee, sir.”
</p>
<p>
“Doubtless! Doubtless!” he agreed. “I
learned to-day that there was a large reward
offered for me, dead or alive.”
</p>
<p>
“Why, it spoke of the reward,” cried she.
“Thee won’t stay here, will thee?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, as to that——” he began, when his
wife and two daughters appeared in the doorway.
</p>
<p>
“What is it, William?” asked gentle Mrs.
Livingston.
</p>
<p>
“The British plan to attempt my capture
to-night,” he explained grimly. “Zounds!
do they think to find me in bed, as they did
Charles Lee?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, father,” cried one of the girls fearfully,
“you must leave at once for a place of
safety.”
</p>
<p>
“Here I stay,” declared the doughty governor.
“Is ‘t not enough that I should be
hounded from pillar to post for two years, that
I should leave now with a brigade less than
a mile away? I’ll barricade the house.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224'></a>224</span>
</p>
<p>
“Why, how could the house be barricaded
when there is not a lock left on a door, nor
even a hinge on the windows,” cried Miss
Susannah. “Papa, aren’t you going to tell
us who your informant is.”
</p>
<p>
“Bless my soul,” ejaculated the governor
hastily. “My dears, this is Miss Peggy Owen,
David’s daughter. ’Twas her cousin, however,
who was the informant. She hath ridden
on, like the brave girl she is, to warn
Maxwell. Miss Peggy, will you not stop with
the family until morning, or do you wish to
return to camp?”
</p>
<p>
“The camp, sir,” replied Peggy promptly.
“My mother will be uneasy.”
</p>
<p>
“Then I will ride with you, my little
maid,” cried he, swinging himself into the
saddle. “This information proves beyond
doubt that there is a spy somewhere among
us, and steps should be taken at once for his
apprehension. My dears, if I thought for
one moment that harm would be offered
you——”
</p>
<p>
“Go, go,” cried one of the daughters imploringly.
“No greater harm will befall us
than an attack of scarlet fever.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225'></a>225</span>
</p>
<p>
“That is Susy’s favorite jest,” chuckled
William Livingston. “She will have it that
our belles are in more danger from the red
coats of the British officers than from all the
bullets the English possess.”
</p>
<p>
They had reached the end of the lane by
this time, and turned into the turnpike just
as a trooper rode up to them coming from
Elizabethtown.
</p>
<p>
“Sir,” he said, saluting, “General Maxwell
hath sent to ask concerning this matter of attack.
Have you any further knowledge regarding
it, and do you consider the information
correct? A young girl, English she was,
came in great haste to tell us of it and hath
set forth at speed for Middlebrook to ask General
Washington to send reinforcements, as
the number of the attacking party is unknown.”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis marvelous,” ejaculated the governor.
“That is just what should be done. That is
a wonderful cousin of yours, Miss Peggy.
Yes,” to the trooper, “I have no doubt but
that the information is correct, though I know
no further concerning the affair than that an
attack is contemplated. Tell your general to
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226'></a>226</span>
be prepared. I am myself bound for the camp
and will hasten the sending of reinforcements.”
</p>
<p>
The trooper saluted, wheeled, and left them.
The ride to Middlebrook was a silent one.
The governor seemed absorbed in thought,
and Peggy was full of wonderment at the perplexity
of Harriet’s actions. She had not
wished her (Peggy) to warn the governor.
She had tried to keep her from coming. And
then—when she had thought her cousin well
on toward the camp she had come after her
and had given the warning herself. Why,
why, why? Peggy asked herself over and
over. Had she thought it a hoax at first, as
she had said, and then upon reflection concluded
that it was not?
</p>
<p>
She was glad that Harriet had changed
about it, Peggy told herself, but how strangely
it was happening! Just as though ’twas Harriet
and not herself to whom the credit belonged.
It was so different, she reflected,
from the time when she had gone to General
Putman with news of the spy, James Molesworth.
Then she had been made much of by
every one, and now——
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227'></a>227</span>
</p>
<p>
As she reached this point in her musings
she chided herself sharply.
</p>
<p>
“Peggy,” she exclaimed in stern self-admonition,
unconscious that she spoke aloud,
“Peggy, what doth it matter who did it—so
that ’twas done? That is the main thing.”
</p>
<p>
“Did you speak, Mistress Peggy?” queried
Governor Livingston, rousing himself from
reverie in turn.
</p>
<p>
“I was thinking, sir,” she told him, “and
knew not that I spoke aloud. ’Tis fashion of
mine so to do sometimes.”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis one that most of us indulge in, I
fancy,” he responded. “We are almost at
camp now. Art tired, my child? ’Tis a
goodly distance you have traveled.”
</p>
<p>
“A little,” she made answer, and again
there was silence.
</p>
<p>
It was ten o’clock when at last they rode
into camp. Lights flashed as men hurried to
and fro, and there was a general appearance
of excitement quite different from the usual
quiet of that hour. David Owen came out of
the farmhouse as they drew rein before it.
</p>
<p>
“I hoped thee would come to the camp,
William,” he exclaimed. “Harriet hath
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228'></a>228</span>
thrown us all into a fever of apprehension
concerning thee. His Excellency hath sent
twice to know if aught was heard from thee.”
</p>
<p>
“His Excellency is most kind,” returned
the governor. “And you also, David, to be
so solicitous anent me. And Harriet? How
is she? Zounds, David! there is a lass to be
proud of! She not only warned me, but
Maxwell also, and now hath come back to the
camp and roused it too! Wonderful! wonderful!
She hath beaten us well, Mistress Peggy.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” said Peggy quietly. “She hath.
Finely!”
</p>
<p>
There was that in her voice that made her
father come to her quickly.
</p>
<p>
“Thee is tired, Peggy,” he cried lifting her
from Star’s back. “Thy mother hath been
full of worriment anent thy absence, but
Harriet said that she had left thee at the
governor’s, so I knew that thou wert safe.
Wilt light, William? We will be honored to
have thy company for the night, and as much
longer as ’twill please thee to remain.”
</p>
<p>
“Thank you, David.” Mr. Livingston
swung himself lightly down to the ground.
“I accept your hospitality with pleasure. Methought
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229'></a>229</span>
I was safe for this winter at home.
Odds life! but the British grow reckless to
make sallies so near the main army.”
</p>
<p>
“The more glory should the attempt have
been successful,” laughed Mr. Owen. “Come
in, William.”
</p>
<p>
“And this is the young lady who would
give me no opportunity to thank her for her
information,” said the governor, going directly
to Harriet who, looking superbly beautiful,
despite a certain languor, reclined in a large
chair surrounded by a group of officers.
</p>
<p>
“You must thank Peggy,” declared Harriet
laughing. “’Twas she who found the note.
Peggy and Fleetwood, my horse, deserve all
the credit, if there be any.”
</p>
<p>
“And Harriet not a bit?” he quizzed, quite
charmed by her modesty. “I fancy that
there are those of us who think that Harriet
deserves some little herself. And now that
we are at ease, let us hear all about it.”
</p>
<p>
“Hath not Peggy told you?” asked
Harriet.
</p>
<p>
“Only given me the outline of it,” he answered.
“Now that the need for action is
past, let’s hear the story.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230'></a>230</span>
</p>
<p>
“Why, we were riding along when all at
once I took a dash ahead of Peggy, just for
sport. When I returned she had the letter,
which she had found while I was gone,”
Harriet told him. “I was miles away then,
was I not, Peggy?” Without waiting for an
answer she continued hastily: “At first we
hardly understood what it meant, and then
suddenly it flashed over us that to-day was
the twenty-fourth, and if there was an attack
to be made ’twould be to-night. Of course
when we realized that, there was but one thing
to do, which was to let you know about it as
quickly as possible, and to warn the brigade
at Elizabethtown. Really,” she ended, laughing
softly, “there is naught to make such a
fuss about. Twas a simple thing to do.”
</p>
<p>
“Mother,” spoke Peggy, rising abruptly,
“if thee does not mind I think I’ll go to my
room. I—I am tired.”
</p>
<p>
Her voice quivered as she finished speaking
and a wild inclination to sob came suddenly
over her. Mrs. Owen glanced at her daughter’s
pale face anxiously as she gave her permission
to withdraw. Something was amiss, she saw.
The two girls had not spoken, and had avoided
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231'></a>231</span>
each other’s glances. Wondering much, she
turned again to the guests while Peggy, safe
at last in her own little chamber, gave vent to
a flood of tears.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232'></a>232</span><a name='chXIX' id='chXIX'></a>CHAPTER XIX—A PROMISE AND AN ACCUSATION</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Under&#160;each&#160;flower&#160;of&#160;radiant&#160;hue</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;&#160;A&#160;serpent&#160;lies&#160;unbidden;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>And&#160;chance&#160;ofttimes&#160;doth&#160;bring&#160;to&#160;view</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;&#160;That&#160;which&#160;hath&#160;been&#160;hidden.</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>The&#160;Valley&#160;of&#160;Tayef</i>.</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
The camp was thrown into a turmoil of
excitement the next day when it was learned
that two regiments of British had indeed
endeavored to take General Maxwell’s brigade
by surprise. A detachment in search of the
governor had reached Liberty Hall shortly
after three o’clock that morning, but not finding
him at home a quest was made for his
private papers, which were saved by the quick
wit of his daughter, Susannah. Baffled in
this attempt they rejoined their comrades who
had surrounded Elizabethtown, expecting to
capture the brigade at least.
</p>
<p>
General Maxwell, however, by reason of
Harriet’s warning had marched out before
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233'></a>233</span>
their arrival, and surprised the enemy by
falling upon them at daybreak.
</p>
<p>
The lively skirmish that ensued, resulted
in the loss of several men on each side, while
the academy, where were kept stores of various
kinds, the Presbyterian Hospital, and a few
other buildings were burned by the British in
their retreat.
</p>
<p>
When this news was received Harriet and
Peggy became the heroines of the hour. A
constant stream of visitors besieged the Owens’
quarters until Mr. Owen laughingly declared
that he should have to entreat protection from
General Washington.
</p>
<p>
In all the demonstration, however, Peggy
was a secondary luminary.
</p>
<p>
“’Tis the more remarkable because thee is
an English girl,” was David Owen’s comment
when Harriet protested against so much attention
being shown her. “And thee deserves
it, my child. ’Twas a great thing for thee to
do.”
</p>
<p>
“But Peggy found the note,” spoke Harriet
with insistence. “I must have been miles away
when she found it. Wasn’t I, Peggy?”
</p>
<p>
Peggy gave her a puzzled look. Why did
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234'></a>234</span>
she make such a point of not being present
when the note was found, she asked herself.
</p>
<p>
“My daughter,” chided her father, “did
thee not hear thy cousin’s question? Thou
hast not answered her.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh!” exclaimed Peggy rousing herself.
“What was it, Harriet? I was wondering
about something.”
</p>
<p>
“’Twas naught,” spoke Harriet. “I only
said I was not with you when the note was
found.”
</p>
<p>
“No, thee was not with me,” answered
Peggy, and something of her perplexity was
visible in her manner.
</p>
<p>
On Friday morning, the day following the
sortie by the enemy, Mrs. Owen entered the
parlor where the two girls were for the moment
sitting alone with Mr. Owen.
</p>
<p>
“Girls,” she said, “an aide hath just come
from His Excellency with his compliments.
He desires the pleasure of Misses Margaret and
Harriet Owen’s company to dinner. You are
to accompany the aide, who will wait for you
to get ready, and will see that you are safely
returned before night falls.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235'></a>235</span>
</p>
<p>
“Oh, must we go?” cried Harriet. “Please,
Cousin David, may I not stay with you?”
</p>
<p>
“Tut, tut, lass!” returned he. “Refuse
His Excellency’s invitation to dine? ’Twould
be monstrous unmannerly, and that thee is
not, Harriet.”
</p>
<p>
“But I would rather stay with you,”
she pleaded, and her dismay was very apparent.
</p>
<p>
“And deprive the general of the pleasure
of thanking thee for thy heroism?” he asked.
“He wishes to interview you both about the
note, I dare say. He said the matter would
need attention.”
</p>
<p>
“I don’t know anything about it, my
cousin,” she objected almost in tears. “’Twas
Peggy who found it.”
</p>
<p>
“Nay; thee must go, Harriet,” he said in
such a tone that she knew that ’twas useless to
object further.
</p>
<p>
The two girls went up-stairs to dress. It
was the first time that they had been alone
together since they had found the note on
Wednesday. To Peggy’s surprise, Harriet’s
hands were shaking so that she could not unfasten
her frock. A feeling of vague alarm
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236'></a>236</span>
thrilled Peggy at the sight. She went to her
cousin quickly.
</p>
<p>
“Harriet,” she cried, “what is it? Why
do you tremble so?”
</p>
<p>
“Peggy,” answered Harriet, sinking into a
chair with a little sob, “I am afraid. I am
so afraid!”
</p>
<p>
“Afraid?” repeated the amazed Peggy.
“Of what, Harriet?”
</p>
<p>
“Of your Mr. Washington,” answered the
girl. “He is so stern, and, and——Oh, I
am afraid!” she cried wringing her hands.
</p>
<p>
“True, he is a stern man,” said the perplexed
Peggy, “but still he hath a kind heart.
We have dined there often, Harriet, and thee
did not mind. I see not why thee should
fear him now. He will but ask us about the
note, and thank thee for thy timely warning
to the governor and the brigade.”
</p>
<p>
“You will not tell him that at first I did
not wish to go, or to have you go, will you,
Peggy?” pleaded Harriet. “I thought better
of it, Peggy. I—I felt sorry about it afterward.”
</p>
<p>
“Thee made up for thy hesitancy nobly,
Harriet,” spoke Peggy warmly, all her bewilderment
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237'></a>237</span>
vanishing at her cousin’s acknowledgment
of sorrow for what she had tried to do.
“I will do as thee wishes in the matter.”
</p>
<p>
“And will you tell him that I was not near
when the note was found?” asked the girl
eagerly.
</p>
<p>
“Yes; for thee was not. But why? I cannot
see what difference ’twould make whether
thee was there or not.”
</p>
<p>
“You are a good little thing, Peggy,” said
Harriet kissing her without replying to the
question. “’Twas mean of me to ride ahead
and give the warning. ’Tis you who should
have the credit, but I had to. I had to.
Some day you will know. Oh!” she cried
checking herself suddenly, “what am I saying?”
</p>
<p>
“Harriet, thee is all undone anent something.
Is thee not well? Let me call mother,
and she will give thee some ‘Jesuit’s bark.’
Thee is all unstrung,” spoke Peggy with solicitude.
</p>
<p>
“No, no; I am all right now,” said Harriet
with something of her accustomed gaiety
of manner. “And, Peggy, whatever happens
remember that I am your cousin, leal and
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238'></a>238</span>
true. I am only a girl, Peggy, and alone in
a strange land.”
</p>
<p>
“Harriet, what is the matter? Thee speaks
in riddles,” ejaculated Peggy, wonderingly.
</p>
<p>
“Peggy, I am unstrung,” answered Harriet.
“And I am afraid that I have done wrong
about—about many things. I wish, oh, Peggy,
I wish I had not had you give that note to
that soldier. I’m afraid that ’twill be found.”
</p>
<p>
“Well? And what if it is, Harriet?
There is nought of harm in it?” Peggy
spoke calmly hoping to soothe her cousin by
her manner.
</p>
<p>
“Peggy!” Harriet clasped her arms about
her convulsively. “Promise me that you will
not tell that I asked you to give it to him!”
</p>
<p>
“But,” began Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“Promise, promise,” cried Harriet feverishly.
</p>
<p>
“I promise, Harriet,” said Peggy, hoping to
quiet her.
</p>
<p>
“Peggy” called Mrs. Owen’s voice at this
moment, “thee must make haste. The aide
is waiting.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, mother,” answered Peggy and there
was no further opportunity for conversation.
To her surprise Harriet recovered her spirits
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239'></a>239</span>
at once and when they reached headquarters
was quite herself.
</p>
<p>
“’Twas most kind of you, Lady Washington,
to have us again so soon,” she cried gaily
as Mrs. Washington received them in the
wide hall of the dwelling.
</p>
<p>
“It is we who are honored,” said the lady
graciously. “I am quite cross with Mr.
Washington because he insists that he must
see you first. He wishes to have some talk
with you before the dinner is served. No,
Billy,” as William Lee, General Washington’s
body-servant, came forward to show the
maidens up-stairs. “It will give me great
pleasure to help the young ladies myself with
their wraps. We are all very proud of our
English co-patriot. ’Twas a great thing for
you to do, my dear,” she added leading the
way up the winding staircase. “It must
have taken an effort on your part to go against
your own people, and shows very plainly that
your sympathy with the cause is sincere.”
</p>
<p>
“Thank you, madam,” murmured Harriet
in some confusion. “But, but Peggy
here——”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis no more than we expect from Peggy,”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240'></a>240</span>
said the matron, giving Peggy such a gentle
pat on the shoulder that Peggy’s heart grew
warm and tender. “Her views are so well
known that nothing she could do for us would
surprise us. That is why we say so little of
her share in the matter.” And she gave
Peggy another caressing touch.
</p>
<p>
Why, of course that was it, Peggy told
herself with a flash of understanding. How
foolish she had been to care, or to have any
feeling on the subject at all. It was a great
thing for Harriet to do. And so thinking
she felt her heart grow very tender toward
her cousin who had suddenly lost her animation
and was pale and silent as they came
down the stairs, and were ushered into the
commander-in-chief’s office.
</p>
<p>
General Washington was sitting before a
large mahogany table whose well polished top
was almost covered by papers. He rose as
the girls entered.
</p>
<p>
“Mrs. Washington has hardly forgiven me
for taking you away from her,” he remarked
smilingly. “I have promised that I will
detain you but a few moments. Miss Harriet,
your head will be quite turned before you
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241'></a>241</span>
will have finished with the toasting and feasting.
But ’twas bravely done! You both
showed rare judgment and courage in acting
as you did. It saved a valiant man from
capture and perhaps the slaughter of an entire
brigade.”
</p>
<p>
“Your Excellency is very kind,” stammered
Harriet while Peggy murmured a
“Thank thee, sir.”
</p>
<p>
“Mr. Hamilton, will you kindly place
chairs for the ladies?” spoke the general to a
slight young man who came forward from the
fireplace near which he had been standing.
“Nay,” in response to an inquiring glance,
“you are not to stay, sir. Mrs. Washington
will gladden you later by an introduction.”
Then as the young man left the room he added
with a slight smile, “I have to be stern with the
blades when there are ladies about, else they
would have time for no other engagements.
And now tell me, I beg, all about this affair.
How came it that ye were riding upon that
road?”
</p>
<p>
“I asked Peggy to go there,” spoke Harriet
quickly; “you see, sir,” with charming candor,
“Governor Livingston is a great friend
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242'></a>242</span>
of Cousin David’s, and came to see him but the
other day. He told us a great deal of Liberty
Hall, and how he had planted hundreds of
trees which he had imported from France and
England, until I was curious anent the place.
Cousin David, or Ensign Drayton, usually
rides with us, but Wednesday both were on
duty; so, as Cousin David said that there was
no danger so long as we kept within the lines,
Peggy and I went for our ride alone. I know
not how it came about; but perhaps ’twas
because the governor had talked about his
home, but we found ourselves all at once upon
the turnpike going toward Elizabethtown.
Presently Fleetwood, being a swifter nag than
Star, became restive at our slow pace and to
take the edge off him I dashed ahead for a
little canter. While I was gone Peggy found
the letter and when I came back there she
was reading it. It did not take us long to
decide what to do, and—but the rest you
know, sir,” she ended abruptly.
</p>
<p>
“Yes; I know the rest,” he said musingly.
“And so you were not there when Miss Peggy
found the note?”
</p>
<p>
“No,” she answered him. “I must have
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243'></a>243</span>
been a mile away. Don’t you think so,
Peggy?”
</p>
<p>
“I do not know how far it was,” replied
Peggy thoughtfully, “but thee was not with
me, Harriet.”
</p>
<p>
“Where did you find it, Miss Peggy?”
asked the general turning to her. “You
must see that it proves that there is a spy
amongst us, and the place where ’twas
found may aid somewhat to his capture.
Tell me as nearly as possible where you
found it.”
</p>
<p>
“Does thee remember where three pines
stand together at a bend in the pike about
ten miles from Elizabethtown?” she asked.
Then as he nodded assent she continued: “It
was just in front of those pines, Friend Washington,
that it was lying. I caught sight of it
and thought some one had lost a letter, and so
dismounted and picked it up. Then Harriet
returned and—and we had some talk.” Peggy
was so candid that she found it hard to gloss
over the conversation with her cousin, but she
went on after a pause so slight as not to be
noticeable. “’Twas deemed best to ride direct
to the governor’s house, and Harriet’s Fleetwood
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244'></a>244</span>
being swifter than my Star, reached the
Hall first.”
</p>
<p>
“It could not have lain long,” he said,
selecting the missive from among a pile of
papers. “The road was muddy and the paper
is scarcely soiled. Then, too, there was a
wind blowing, and ’twould have been taken
up from the road had it been there long.
According to this the person who dropped it
must have been so short a distance ahead of
you that you could not have failed to see
him.”
</p>
<p>
“There were but we two on the road, sir,”
spoke Harriet, although the question was
directed to Peggy. “We neither met any one,
Your Excellency, nor did we see any one until
we reached Liberty Hall.”
</p>
<p>
“That being the case,” he said rising, “I
will no longer risk Mrs. Washington’s disfavor
by keeping you from her. Permit me to
thank you both and particularly Miss Harriet
for the judgment you showed. You did the
only thing that could be done, and ’tis rare
indeed that maidens so young show such
thought. I hope that you will both pleasure
us frequently with your presence.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245'></a>245</span>
</p>
<p>
He opened the door for them with stately
courtliness. Curtseying deeply the maidens
reached the threshold just as a group of
soldiers bustled unceremoniously into the hall,
and blocked the exit.
</p>
<p>
“A spy, Your Excellency,” cried an orderly,
excitedly saluting.
</p>
<p>
The soldiers drew apart as the orderly spoke
and from their midst came John Drayton
leading the very private soldier to whom
Peggy had given Harriet’s note.
</p>
<p>
“Your Excellency,” said the ensign saluting,
“I caught this fellow just as he was stealing
from the lines. He had a most incriminating
note upon his person. His actions for
some time have been most suspicious, and——”
</p>
<p>
“Sir,” spoke General Washington gravely,
“do you not see that there are ladies present?
Let them pass, I beg of you. Such things are
not of a nature for gentle ears to hear.”
</p>
<p>
As he spoke the eyes of the prisoner rested
upon the maidens. He gave a short cry as he
saw them, and sprang forward.
</p>
<p>
“If I did have a note, Your Excellency,” he
cried, “there stands the girl who gave it to
me.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246'></a>246</span>
</p>
<p>
“Where?” asked the general sternly.
</p>
<p>
“There!” said the man pointing to Peggy.
“That girl gave me the letter Tuesday afternoon.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247'></a>247</span><a name='chXX' id='chXX'></a>CHAPTER XX—A REGRETTED PROMISE</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“Not&#160;for&#160;counsel&#160;are&#160;we&#160;met,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>But&#160;to&#160;secure&#160;our&#160;arms&#160;from&#160;treachery,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>O’erthrow&#160;and&#160;stifle&#160;base&#160;conspiracies,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Involve&#160;in&#160;his&#160;own&#160;toils&#160;our&#160;false&#160;ally——”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—“Count&#160;Julian,”&#160;<i>Walter&#160;Savage&#160;Landor</i>.</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
For one long moment there was a silence so
tense that the breathing of those present was
plainly audible. Peggy had become very pale,
but she met the searching glance which General
Washington bent upon her steadily.
</p>
<p>
“Did you ever give him a note, letter, or
communication of any kind?” he asked at
length.
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” she answered. “I gave him a letter
to send through the lines a few days since.
It was Third Day afternoon, as he hath said.”
</p>
<p>
“You?” cried John Drayton springing
toward her, and there was anguish and incredulity
in his voice. “You? Oh, Peggy!”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” she said again clearly. “Has thee
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248'></a>248</span>
the letter, John? Give it to the general.
He will see that there was naught of harm
intended.”
</p>
<p>
But Drayton shrank back and covered his
face with his hands.
</p>
<p>
“Have you the missive, ensign?” demanded
the commander gravely. “If so let
me see it.”
</p>
<p>
“She, she doth not know—— It cannot be.
Oh, sir, do not look at the letter, I beseech
you,” uttered young Drayton brokenly.
</p>
<p>
“The letter, Drayton.” There was no mistaking
the command in the tone. The boy
drew the letter from his sword belt, and
handed it to the general.
</p>
<p>
“There is some mistake,” he said, and
Peggy was surprised to see that his eyes were
wet. “Sir, I entreat——”
</p>
<p>
“Take your prisoner to the outer room,
ensign,” ordered the chief after reading the
note. “Meantime, may I ask that all of you
will leave me with the exception of this
girl?” He indicated Peggy as he finished
speaking.
</p>
<p>
Silently the men filed out, but Harriet
lingered, her eyes fixed upon Peggy with so
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249'></a>249</span>
much of appeal that the latter tried to smile
reassuringly.
</p>
<p>
“You must go too, Miss Harriet,” he said,
and Harriet was forced to leave the room.
</p>
<p>
In all of Peggy’s life never had she felt the
fear that now came upon her. At all times
reserved in his manner and his bearing full
of dignity, never before had she realized the
majesty of General Washington’s august presence.
In the past when others had called
him cold and austere she had denied such
qualities warmly, but now as she found him
regarding her with a stern expression she
began to tremble violently.
</p>
<p>
“And to whom was your letter sent?” he
asked after a painful pause.
</p>
<p>
“To Sir Henry Clinton, sir.”
</p>
<p>
“And what would you have to say to Sir
Henry Clinton?” he demanded, plainly astonished.
</p>
<p>
“I?” Peggy looked at him quickly.
“Why, I did not write it, Friend Washington.”
</p>
<p>
“You did not?” It seemed to Peggy that
his glance would pierce her very soul, so keen
was his scrutiny. “If you did not, who
did?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250'></a>250</span>
</p>
<p>
“Read the letter,” implored she. “Read
it, sir. ’Twill explain everything.”
</p>
<p>
“I have read it,” he made answer. “Do
you wish me to do so again?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” she said, a vague apprehension
stirring her heart at his manner.
</p>
<p>
Slowly and impressively he read aloud
without further comment: “A certain personage
spends a portion of every clear afternoon
upon the summit of Chimney Rock,
which I have told you stands nigh to Bound
Brook. Fording the Raritan at the spot
already designated could be done without fear
of the sentry, and the personage captured
with but little risk. Without him the army
would go to pieces, and the rebellion ended.
Further particulars contained in other letters
forwarded by S.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh!” gasped Peggy her eyes widening
with consternation. “That is not the note I
sent, Friend Washington. Does not that
mean thee and thy capture?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” he said. “There seem to be plots
and counterplots for the leaders. What is
behind all this? I am loth to believe that
you would wilfully connive at either my
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251'></a>251</span>
capture, or anything that would bring harm
to the cause.”
</p>
<p>
“I would not, I would not,” she told him
earnestly, amazed and bewildered at the thing
that had befallen her. “I would do naught
that would injure the cause. And thee—— Why,
sir, I would rather die than act of mine
should bring thee harm.”
</p>
<p>
“I believe you,” he said. “Your past
actions show you have the best interests of
your country at heart. But you are shielding
some one,” he said leaning toward her suddenly.
“Who is it? Were it not for the
fact that your cousin discovered so much zeal
in warning Governor Livingston and the
garrison at Elizabethtown I should say that
’twas she. But were she guilty she would not
have warned the governor, and would have
tried to prevent you from doing so.” He
looked straight into her eyes as the girl with
difficulty repressed an exclamation. “Who
is it?” he asked again.
</p>
<p>
But Peggy could only stare at him unable
to speak. In that moment the truth had
come to her, and she saw the explanation of
everything. Harriet had deceived her and
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252'></a>252</span>
all of them, from the beginning. A blaze of
anger swept her from head to foot. Was the
daughter, like the father, only seeking to
work them harm?
</p>
<p>
“Who is it?” repeated General Washington,
watching her intently, and seeing that
she was shaken by some emotion.
</p>
<p>
“It was——” she began, and paused. She
had promised only that morning that she
would not tell that Harriet had given her the
note. Could she break her word? Had
she not been taught once a word was
passed ’twas a sacred thing, and not to
be lightly broken? She looked at him in
anguish. “I want to tell thee,” she burst
forth, “but I have promised. I have promised.”
</p>
<p>
“But you thought the contents of this note
were different, did you not? You did not
know that it contained a hint of a plan for
my capture?”
</p>
<p>
“No,” she answered. “I did not know.”
</p>
<p>
“Then you were tricked,” he declared. “By
shielding this person, or persons, you expose
the entire camp to other plots which may
prove more successful than these last have
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253'></a>253</span>
been. Do you still consider your word binding
under the circumstances?”
</p>
<p>
“I have been taught,” she said, her eyes full
of trouble, “that having once passed my word
it must be kept. Friends do not take oath as
others do, but affirm only. Therefore, we are
taught, that once given one’s word must be
abided by so that it will be as stable and as
much to be relied upon as an oath.”
</p>
<p>
“But do you not see, Mistress Peggy, that
your refusal to disclose the name of the person
places you under suspicion?”
</p>
<p>
“I am a patriot,” she asserted, pleadingly,
“loyal and true to my country. I have ever
striven to do what I could.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes; but by your own confession you
have given a note to this man, who says that
’tis this very one. We have only your word
that ’tis not so. Then, too, you were alone
when the warning note was found. It was
not soiled nor trampled upon as it would have
been had it lain there long. Child, you place
yourself under suspicion.”
</p>
<p>
“I see,” she said miserably.
</p>
<p>
“’Tis a cruel necessity of war to use spies,”
he went on, “but all armies show them small
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254'></a>254</span>
mercy when they are caught. And it should
be so. The man, woman, or girl even, acting
as one does so at the risk of life.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy started. He had used almost the
same words that John Drayton had used the
day they had seen the swinging body of the
spy. A shudder shook her. Again she saw
the swaying form dangling from the tree.
Small mercy was shown a spy. Could she
condemn Harriet to such a fate? Beautiful
Harriet with her wonderful eyes!
</p>
<p>
“Friend Washington,” she cried brokenly,
“thee does not believe that I would injure
thee, or my country, does thee?”
</p>
<p>
“What am I to think, Miss Peggy?” he
asked, ignoring her outstretched hands.
</p>
<p>
“Give me a little time,” she cried. “Only
a little time. Oh, I am sore beset. I know
not what to do.”
</p>
<p>
“Child,” he said with compassion, “I am
thinking of a time when a young girl came
to me through winter’s snow and cold to plead
for the life of her father. Do you remember
what she said when I told her that I could
not exchange a spy for him, valiant though
the deeds of that father had been? She said,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255'></a>255</span>
‘I know that thee must refuse me. Thee
would be false to thy trust were thee to do
otherwise.’ Hath my little maiden whose
answer so warmed my heart with its patriotism
that I have never forgotten it, changed so
that now she shields a spy? I cannot believe
it.”
</p>
<p>
“Thee presses me so hard,” she cried wringing
her hands. “Let me have a little time, I
entreat thee. It could not matter to let me
have until to-morrow. Just until to-morrow,
Friend Washington.”
</p>
<p>
He gazed at her thoughtfully. Her anguish
was so apparent that none could help being
touched. That there was much behind it all
was very evident, and so presently he said:
</p>
<p>
“You shall have until to-morrow, Mistress
Peggy. ’Tis against all precedent, but for what
you have done before I will grant your request.
But there will be no further delay.”
</p>
<p>
“Thank thee, sir,” said she weeping. “I
will ask none.” She spoke timidly after a
moment. “What am I to do, sir? Thee will
not wish me to stay for dinner if I am under
suspicion.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” he said. “Let all go on as before
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256'></a>256</span>
until the matter is unraveled. Can you compose
yourself sufficiently to wait upon Mrs.
Washington? The dinner hour hath come.”
</p>
<p>
As Peggy replied in the affirmative, he
called an orderly, and gave him some directions,
then escorted the maiden into the
dining-room. The Quaker habit of self-control
enabled the girl to bear the curious
glances cast at her pale face, but the dinner
was a trying ordeal. She had grown to love
the gay circle that gathered at the table, and
to count a day spent with the brilliant men
and women as one to be remembered; to-day
she was glad when the time came for her
to go home.
</p>
<p>
Harriet had been very vivacious all through
the afternoon, but as they set forth accompanied
by the same aide who had escorted
them to the mansion she relapsed into silence.
It had been Peggy’s intention to tell the whole
story to her father and mother in Harriet’s
presence as soon as she reached home, but there
was company in the drawing-room, and as she
stood hesitating what to do her mother
hastened to them.
</p>
<p>
“How tired you both look,” she cried in
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257'></a>257</span>
alarm. “To bed ye go at once. Nay, David,”
as Mr. Owen entreated a delay. “’Tis early,
I know, but too much excitement is not to be
endured. And both girls will be the better
for a long sleep. So to bed! To bed!”
</p>
<p>
And with some reluctance on the part of
both maidens they went slowly up to the little
chamber under the eaves.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258'></a>258</span><a name='chXXI' id='chXXI'></a>CHAPTER XXI—THE RECKONING</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>“He&#160;flees</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>From&#160;his&#160;own&#160;treachery;&#160;all&#160;his&#160;pride,&#160;his&#160;hopes,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Are&#160;scattered&#160;at&#160;a&#160;breath;&#160;even&#160;courage&#160;fails</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Now&#160;falsehood&#160;sinks&#160;from&#160;under&#160;him.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>Walter&#160;Savage&#160;Landor.</i></p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
As Peggy placed the candle she had carried
to light them up the stairs in the socket of a
candlestick on the chest of drawers, Harriet
closed the door, and shot the bolt. Then
slowly the two turned and stood face to face.
Not a word was spoken for a full moment.
They gazed at each other as though seeking to
pierce the mask of flesh and bones that hid
their souls.
</p>
<p>
It was a tense moment. The attitude of the
Quakeress was accusing; that of the English
girl defiant, changing to one of supplication
as the dark eyes of her cousin held her own
orbs in that intent look. For a time she bore
the gaze unflinchingly, but soon her glance
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259'></a>259</span>
wavered, her eyelids drooped, and she sank
into a chair whispering:
</p>
<p>
“You know, Peggy. You know!”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” said Peggy. “I know, Harriet.”
</p>
<p>
“Will—will they hang me, Peggy? What
did Mr. Washington say? Oh, I have been
so miserable this afternoon! I thought they
were coming to take me every time the door
opened. And you were so long with him.
What did he say?”
</p>
<p>
“He does not know that it was thee who
writ the letter yet, Harriet,” Peggy informed
her calmly.
</p>
<p>
“Not know?” ejaculated Harriet, springing
up in amazement. “Did you not tell him,
Peggy?”
</p>
<p>
“No, Harriet. I promised thee this morning
that I would not, and I could not break
my word,” explained Peggy simply.
</p>
<p>
“You did not tell him?” cried Harriet, as
though she could not believe her ears. “Why,
Peggy Owen, how could you get out of it?
He would believe that you were the guilty one
if you did not.”
</p>
<p>
“So he told me, Harriet. But I had
promised thee; and then, and then, though
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260'></a>260</span>
thee does not deserve it, I could not help but
think of that spy we saw—— But, Harriet, I
asked him to give me a little time, and I thought
that I would ask thee to return my promise, because
I cannot submit to rest under the implication
of having tried to injure General Washington.
Thee must give me back my word, my
cousin.”
</p>
<p>
“And if I do not?” asked Harriet anxiously.
</p>
<p>
“I am going to father with the whole
matter. I shall do that anyway. The general
claims that I was tricked, and I was, most
shamefully. That letter was not the one that
thee let me read. And the letter telling of
the attack was thine. I see it all—why thee
rode ahead to warn the governor and the garrison,
and everything. The time has come,
Harriet, when thou shalt tell me why thou
hast come here to act as a spy. Why hast
thou used us, thy kinspeople, to mask such
plots as thou hast been in against our own
friends? Have we used thee unkindly? Or
discourteously? Why should thee treat us
so, my cousin?”
</p>
<div><a name='fig269' id='fig269'></a></div>
<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<a name='i006' id='i006'></a>
<img src="images/illus269.jpg" alt="“WHY SHOULD THEE PLAY THE SPY?”" title=""/><br />
<span class='caption'>“WHY SHOULD THEE PLAY THE SPY?”</span>
</div>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261'></a>261</span></div>
<p>
“I did not mean to, Peggy,” returned
Harriet with her old manner of affection.
“Do you not remember that I said this morning
that I was sorry that I let you send it?
And I am. I am. But John Drayton was
to be with us, and he watched me so that I
feared that he would see me. Truly, I am
sorry, Peggy.”
</p>
<p>
She spoke with evident sincerity so that
Peggy believed her.
</p>
<p>
“Harriet,” she said, “tell me why thou hast
done this? Why should thee play the spy?”
</p>
<p>
Harriet shivered at the word. “I am
cold,” she said. “Let us get into bed, Peggy.
I am cold.”
</p>
<p>
Without a word of protest Peggy helped
her to undress, but she herself climbed into
the four-poster without disrobing. Harriet
pulled the many colored counterpanes about
her and snuggled down into the thick feather
bed.
</p>
<p>
“Peggy,” she said presently, “I know ’tis
thought most indelicate for a female to engage
in such enterprise as spying, but would you
not take any risk for your country if you
thought it would benefit her?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” assented her cousin. “I would.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262'></a>262</span>
</p>
<p>
“That and one other thing is the reason
that I have become one,” said Harriet. “We
English believe that you Americans are wrong
about the war. We are loyal to our king,
and fight to keep the colonies which rightfully
belong to him. I came with my brother,
Clifford, over here, and both of us were full of
enthusiasm for His Majesty. We determined
to do anything that would help him to put
down the rebellion, and so believing offered
our services to Sir Henry Clinton.
</p>
<p>
“There was but this one thing that I could
do, and when we learned that you and your
mother were to join Cousin David we knew
that it was the opportunity we sought. Sir
Henry welcomed the chance to have an informant
who would be right in the midst of
things without being suspected. And I have
learned much, Peggy. I have done good
work.”
</p>
<p>
“Harriet,” interrupted Peggy amazed at
the recital, “does thee mean to tell me thee
knew when mother and I were coming?”
</p>
<p>
“To the very day,” answered Harriet with
a laugh. “Oh, we keep well informed in
New York. You little know the people who
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263'></a>263</span>
are around you. And your general hath
spies among us, too. ’Tis fortune of war,
Peggy.”
</p>
<p>
“So General Washington said,” mused Peggy.
“But I would thee were not one. ’Tis a life
full of trickery and deceit. I like it not for
a girl.”
</p>
<p>
“And the other reason,” continued Harriet,
“is more personal. Peggy, my father hath
lost all his fortune. We are very poor, my
cousin.”
</p>
<p>
“But—but thy frocks?” cried Peggy.
“Thee has been well dressed, Harriet, and
frocks are frocks these days.”
</p>
<p>
“It seems so to you because you know not the
mode, cousin. Were you in London you would
soon see the difference betwixt my gowns
and those of fashion. But I was to have the
reward for Governor Livingston should the
plan for his capture succeed, and that would
have helped father a great deal.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Harriet, Harriet!” moaned Peggy
bewildered by this maze of reasoning. “I
would that thee had not done this, or that
thou hadst returned to thy people long ago.
Why did thee not go back the other day?
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264'></a>264</span>
’Twas in the letter that thee should be near
so as to be taken also.”
</p>
<p>
“I intended to,” answered Harriet. “That
was why I wished to ride near to Liberty
Hall, but when I found that I had lost the
note, I came back for it, hoping that you had
not seen it. You were determined to warn
both the garrison and the governor, and that
would render it impossible for me to get to
our forces. I tried to slip away yesterday, but
there was no chance. And now you will tell
on me to-morrow, and I will be hanged.”
</p>
<p>
“Don’t, Harriet,” pleaded Peggy. “I am
going right down to father, and see if he can
tell us some way out of this. It may be that
he can persuade General Washington to let
thee go back to thy people.”
</p>
<p>
“Peggy,” cried Harriet laying a detaining
hand upon the girl as she slipped from the
bed. “You must not bring Cousin David
into this. He is a soldier who stands high
with the general. If he intercedes for me he
will himself be under suspicion. You would
not wish to get your father into trouble,
would you? Beside, ’tis his duty, as a patriot,
to give me up to punishment. Do you
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265'></a>265</span>
not see it? If I were not your cousin you
would not hesitate in the matter.”
</p>
<p>
“True,” said Peggy pausing. Well she
knew that her father was so loyal that the
matter might appear to him in just that very
way. “He loves thee well though, Harriet.”
</p>
<p>
“And for that reason he shall not be
tempted,” cried Harriet. “No, Peggy; there
is no help. I must pay the penalty. I knew
the risk.”
</p>
<p>
She buried her face in the pillow, and,
despite her brave words, sobs shook her
form.
</p>
<p>
“Is there no way? No way?” cried Peggy
frantically. “I cannot bear to think of thee
being hang——” She paused, unable to finish
the dreadful word.
</p>
<p>
“There is one way,” said Harriet suddenly
sitting up. “If you would help me, Peggy,
to get to Amboy I could get to New York
from there.”
</p>
<p>
“Could thee, Harriet? How?”
</p>
<p>
“There are always sloops that ply betwixt
the two places,” said Harriet. “If I could
but reach there I know that I could get one
of them to take me to the city.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266'></a>266</span>
</p>
<p>
“But how could thee reach Amboy?”
asked Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“Peggy, go with me now,” pleaded Harriet,
clasping her arms about her cousin.
“Let us slip down, and get our horses. Then
we can get to Amboy, and you could be back
to-morrow morning. Your father, ay! and
your mother, too, would be glad to know that I
had got away before they came to arrest me.”
</p>
<p>
“But why should I go?” inquired Peggy.
“Can thee not go alone? Thee knows the
way.”
</p>
<p>
“They would not let me pass the lines,”
said Harriet. “They would know by my
voice that I was English, and would detain
me. Whatever we try to do in the matter
must be done to-night, because to-morrow will
be too late. Will you come with me, Peggy?
I shall never ask aught else of you.”
</p>
<p>
“I will come,” said Peggy, after a moment’s
thought. “I do believe that father and mother
will approve. And, Harriet, will thee give
me back my promise, if I do come?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, Peggy. And further, my cousin, if
you will but help me to get to New York I
will never act the spy again. I promise you
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267'></a>267</span>
that of my own accord. ’Tis too much risk
for a girl, and I have had my lesson.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Harriet,” cried Peggy. “If thee will
only do that then I can tell General Washington
all the matter with light heart. I like
not to think of thee as a spy.”
</p>
<p>
The tattoo had long since sounded. The
house was still. The girls dressed themselves
warmly, and stole silently out of the dwelling
down to the stables where their horses were
kept. Deftly they bridled and saddled the
animals, and then led them quietly to the
lane which would take them to the road.
</p>
<p>
In the distance the flames of the dying
camp-fires flickered palely, illumining the
shadowy forms of the few soldiers grouped
about them, and accentuating the gloom of
the encircling wood. A brooding stillness
hung over the encampment, broken only by
the sough of the wind as it wandered about
the huts, or stirred the branches of the pines
on the hills. The army slept. Slept as only
those sleep who have earned repose. They
were soldiers whose hardships and sufferings
have scarcely a parallel in the annals of history,
yet they could sleep even though they
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268'></a>268</span>
had but hard boards for a couch, and but a
blanket or a little straw for covering.
</p>
<p>
Peggy started suddenly as the deep bay of
a hound came to them from the village of
Bound Brook.
</p>
<p>
“Harriet,” she whispered, “I am afraid.
Let us wait until to-morrow.”
</p>
<p>
“To-morrow will be too late,” answered
Harriet, and Peggy wondered to hear how
hard her voice sounded. “Do you want me
hung, Peggy? Beside, you promised that
you would come. ’Tis the last time that I’ll
ever ask favor of you.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, I know,” answered Peggy, in a low
tone. “I will go, Harriet; but I wish now
that I had not said that I would.”
</p>
<p>
“Come,” was Harriet’s brief answer. And
Peggy followed her into the darkness.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269'></a>269</span><a name='chXXII' id='chXXII'></a>CHAPTER XXII—A HIGH-HANDED PROCEEDING</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>“Had&#160;your&#160;watch&#160;been&#160;good,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>This&#160;sudden&#160;mischief&#160;never&#160;could&#160;have&#160;fallen.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—First&#160;Part&#160;Henry&#160;VI.</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
Had Peggy been in the lead she would
have headed at once for the “Great Raritan
Road,” a highway which ran down the valley
of the river directly to the town of New
Brunswick, which lay but a few miles west
of Amboy. Harriet, on the contrary, turned
toward Bound Brook, and entered the dense
wood which stood between that village and
the hills.
</p>
<p>
“This is not the way to Amboy, Harriet,”
remonstrated Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“No,” answered her cousin briefly. Then,
after a moment: “’Tis the only way to get
through the lines without the countersign.
We must not talk.”
</p>
<p>
“Hasn’t thee the countersign?” asked
Peggy, dismayed.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270'></a>270</span>
</p>
<p>
“No; don’t talk, Peggy.”
</p>
<p>
And Peggy, wondering much how with two
horses they could pass the pickets unchallenged,
relapsed into silence. But the lack of
the password did not seem to daunt Harriet.
She pushed ahead as rapidly as was consistent
with rough ground, thickly growing trees and
underbrush, and the gloom of the forest. At
length as they entered a shallow ravine
Harriet drew rein, and, as Peggy came up beside
her, she spoke:
</p>
<p>
“Are you afraid, Peggy?”
</p>
<p>
“No,” replied Peggy, “but the stillness is
monstrously wearing. And ’tis so dark, Harriet.”
</p>
<p>
“Which is to our benefit,” returned Harriet.
“As for the quiet, once we are clear of the
lines we can chat, and so will not mind it.
But come!”
</p>
<p>
Again she took the lead, and Peggy, following
after, could not but marvel at the unerring
precision with which her cousin chose her
way. Not once did she falter or hesitate,
though to Peggy the darkness and gloom of
the forest seemed impenetrable.
</p>
<p>
The melancholy of the forest encompassed
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271'></a>271</span>
them, infolding them like a mantle. It so
wrought upon their senses that they reached
out and touched each other frequently, seeking
to find solace from its brooding sadness.
It seemed as though hours elapsed before Harriet
spoke in the merest whisper:
</p>
<p>
“I think we are without the lines, Peggy.
’Tis about time, and now we can seek the
turnpike.”
</p>
<p>
She had scarcely finished speaking when
out of the darkness came the peremptory
command:
</p>
<p>
“Halt! Who goes there?”
</p>
<p>
“Friends,” answered Harriet, as the two
obediently brought their horses to a standstill.
</p>
<p>
In the darkness the shadowy form of the
sentinel was but dimly visible, but a feeble
ray of the pale moonlight caught the gleam of
his musket, and Peggy saw with a thrill of
fear that it was pointed directly toward Harriet.
</p>
<p>
“Advance, and give the countersign,” came
the order.
</p>
<p>
How it came about Peggy could not tell,
but as he gave the command, Fleetwood reared
suddenly upon his hind feet, and, pawing the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272'></a>272</span>
air with his forelegs and snorting viciously,
advanced toward the guard threateningly.
An ominous click of the firelock sounded.
Wild with terror at the sight, and fearful of
what might happen, Peggy cried shrilly:
</p>
<p>
“Look sharp!”
</p>
<p>
“Why didn’t you say so before?” growled
the sentry lowering his gun. “What’s the
matter with that horse?”
</p>
<p>
“I think he must have stepped among some
thorn bushes,” replied Harriet sweetly. “I
will soon quiet him, friend. The underbrush
is thick hereabouts.”
</p>
<p>
“Too thick to be straying around in at
night,” he answered with some roughness.
“That horse is enough to scare the British.
What are you doing in the woods? You are
bound to lose your way.”
</p>
<p>
“We have done that already,” she told him
with apparent frankness. She had succeeded
by this time in quieting Fleetwood, who now
resumed his normal position. By the merest
chance they had stumbled upon the password,
and she purposed making the most of it.
“You see we were at a party in the camp, and
coming back my cousin and I thought to
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273'></a>273</span>
make a short cut through the woods so as to
get home quickly. We ought to have been
there long ago, but ’twas a pretty little frisk,
and we just couldn’t make up our minds to
leave. You know how it is.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” he rejoined laughing good naturedly.
“I know how ’tis. I’ve gals of my own.
Well, you just get over to that road as fast as
you can. ’Tis a half mile straight to your
right. And say! if another sentinel asks for
the countersign speak right up. You’re liable
to get a ball if you don’t.”
</p>
<p>
“Thank you,” she said. “We will remember.
Come, my cousin.”
</p>
<p>
“You blessed Peggy!” she exclaimed as
they passed beyond the hearing of the guard.
“How did you chance upon that watchword?”
</p>
<p>
“I don’t know,” answered Peggy, who had
not yet recovered her equanimity. “I meant
to say, ‘Look out!’ I don’t know how I
came to say sharp. But what was the matter
with Fleetwood? Was he among thorns?”
</p>
<p>
“Dear me, no! ’Tis a trick that I taught
him. You do not know all his accomplishments.
’Twas well for that sentinel that he
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274'></a>274</span>
let us through. Wasn’t it, old fellow?” And
her laugh as she patted the animal was not a
pleasant one to hear.
</p>
<p>
Peggy shuddered. She would not like Star
to be taught such tricks, she thought, giving
the little mare a loving caress. She was beginning
to doubt the wisdom of coming with
Harriet. The girl appeared to know her way
so well, to be so able to care for herself that
there seemed no need for Peggy to be along.
But let her see her safely to a place where she
could reach her own people, and then Peggy
resolved, with a quick tightening of the lips,
nothing should ever induce her to put herself
into such a plight again.
</p>
<p>
By this time the moon had gone down, and
while the sky was not clouded there was a
dim haze that rendered the light of the stars
ineffectual in dispelling the darkness. On
they rode. The time seemed interminable
to Peggy; the blackness of the night unbearable.
The sudden snapping of a dried
twig under Star’s feet caused her to start
violently.
</p>
<p>
“Harriet,” she cried, “naught is to be gained
by keeping to the woods. The lines are passed.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275'></a>275</span>
Let us get to the highway. We must make
better progress if I am to get back before the
reveille.”
</p>
<p>
“That you will never do, Peggy,” replied
Harriet pointing to the sky. “’Tis almost
time for it now.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy looked up in dismay. The gray twilight
that precedes the dawn was stealing over
the darkness. The soldier’s day began when
the sentry could see a thousand yards about
him. Another hour would bring about just
that condition. It was clearly impossible for
her to return before the sounding of the
reveille.
</p>
<p>
“Does thee know where we are?” she
asked. “And where is the road?”
</p>
<p>
“There is just a narrow strip of the woods
betwixt us and the turnpike, Peggy,” Harriet
assured her. “It hath been so since we left
the guard. We will get to it at once if it
please you. As for where we are, we should
be getting to Perth Amboy soon.”
</p>
<p>
“But why hath it taken so long?” queried
Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“Because the brigades of Baron Steuben
and General Wayne lay south of the Raritan,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276'></a>276</span>
and we had to go around them. I did not tell
you, Peggy, that ’twould take so long because
I feared that you would not come. It doth
not matter, doth it, what way I took to
safety?”
</p>
<p>
“No,” answered Peggy, touched by this allusion
to her cousin’s peril. “It would have
been fearful for thee to have come through the
darkness alone, but oh, Harriet! I do wish
thee had told me. Then I would have left a
letter for mother, anyway. She will be so
uneasy.”
</p>
<p>
“Never mind!” consoled Harriet. “And
then you may never see me again. Shall you
care, Peggy?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” answered Peggy soberly. “I will,
but——” She paused and drew rein abruptly.
“There are forms flitting about in
the wood,” she whispered. “Does thee think
they mean us harm?”
</p>
<p>
Harriet made no reply, but gazed intently
into the forest. In the indistinct light the
figures of mounted men could be seen moving
like shadows among the trees. That they
were gradually approaching the maidens was
evident. The girl watched them for a few seconds, and
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277'></a>277</span>
then leaning forward gave a low,
birdlike call. It was answered in kind on the
instant, and a half dozen horsemen dashed
from the wood into the narrow highway.
</p>
<p>
“Now am I safe,” cried Harriet joyfully,
reaching out her hand to the foremost of the
men who gathered about them. “Captain
Greyling, your arrival is timely.”
</p>
<p>
“We have waited many nights for you,
Mistress Owen,” said that officer. “We began
to think that you might in very truth have
become one of the rebels. You are most welcome.”
</p>
<p>
“Thank you,” she cried gaily. “You are
not more pleased to see me than I am to be
here. In truth, had I not succeeded in coming,
I should not have had another opportunity.
’Twas becoming very uncomfortable in
camp. I have barely escaped I know not
what fate. But more of that anon. Peggy,
let me present Captain Greyling of De Lancy’s
Loyal Legion. My cousin, Mistress Peggy
Owen, Captain Greyling.”
</p>
<p>
De Lancy’s Loyal Legion! Peggy’s cheek
blanched at the name. This was a body of
Tory cavalry, half freebooters and half in the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278'></a>278</span>
regular service. Between New York and
Philadelphia and the country surrounding
both places the name stood for all that was
terrible and malignant in human nature. So
stricken with terror was she that she could
not return the officer’s salutation.
</p>
<p>
“Where lies the boat?” asked Harriet.
</p>
<p>
“Close to the bank of the river. The trees
hide it. ’Tis but a shallop which will take
us to the sloop which is in the bay outside
Amboy. The men will bring the horses by
ferry.”
</p>
<p>
“Very well,” answered Harriet, preparing
to dismount. “We are at the end of our long
ride, Peggy. Are you not glad?”
</p>
<p>
“I am for thee,” said Peggy, speaking
quietly but filled with a vague alarm. “As
for me, I will bid thee farewell, and return to
the camp.”
</p>
<p>
She wheeled as she spoke, but instantly the
mare’s bridle was seized, and she was brought
to a standstill.
</p>
<p>
“What is the meaning of this?” cried
Peggy, her eyes flashing. “Thee is safe,
Harriet. Call off thy friends. Thee knows
that I must return.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279'></a>279</span>
</p>
<p>
“Dost think that I will part with you so
soon, my cousin?” laughed Harriet mockingly.
“Nay, nay; I have promised to bring
you to New York. Best go peaceably, Peggy;
for go you must.”
</p>
<p>
“Never!” exclaimed Peggy, striking Star
a sharp blow. The little mare reared, plunged,
pranced and wheeled in the effort to rid herself
of the hold on her bridle, but vainly.
Peggy uttered a piercing shriek as she was
torn from the saddle, and half dragged, half
carried through the trees down the bank to
the boat which was drawn up close to the
shore. Two of the men followed after the
captain and Harriet. The latter seated herself
by Peggy’s side, and placed her arm about
her.
</p>
<p>
“’Twould have been better to come quietly,”
she said. “I meant you should go back with
me all the while. I could not bear to lose
you, Peggy. I thought——”
</p>
<p>
But Peggy, her spirit up in arms, turned
such a look of scorn upon her cousin that
Harriet paused in her speech abruptly.
</p>
<p>
“Speak not to me of affection, Harriet
Owen,” she cried. “Thou art incapable of
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280'></a>280</span>
feeling it. Is there no truth to be found in
any of thy family? Are ye all treacherous
and dishonorable? Would that thou wert no
kin of mine! Would that I had never seen
thee, nor any of thy——”
</p>
<p>
Unable to continue, she burst into a passion
of tears.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281'></a>281</span><a name='chXXIII' id='chXXIII'></a>CHAPTER XXIII—IN THE LINES OF THE ENEMY</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“There&#160;is&#160;but&#160;one&#160;philosophy,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>though&#160;there&#160;are&#160;a&#160;thousand&#160;schools—</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;&#160;Its&#160;name&#160;is&#160;fortitude.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—Bulwer.</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
The morning broke gloriously, and held
forth the promise of a beautiful day. So
mild was the weather that it seemed more
like a spring day than the last of February.
Out in the bay of the Raritan rode a sloop at
anchor, and toward this the shallop made its
way. They were taken aboard, and Harriet,
who had left Peggy to her grief, now approached
her.
</p>
<p>
“We have been long without either rest or
food, my cousin. Come with me to breakfast.
Then we will sleep until New York is
reached.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy vouchsafed her never a word, but
taking a position by the taffrail stood looking
over the dazzling water toward the now receding shores
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282'></a>282</span>
of New Jersey. Into the lower
bay sailed the sloop, heading at once for the
narrows. Few sails were to be seen on the
wide expanse of water save to the left
where, under the heights of Staten Island, a
part of the British fleet lay at anchor. Brilliant
shafts of sunlight wavered and played
over the face of the water. Astern, as far as
the eye could see, lay the ocean, blank of all
sail, the waves glinting back the strong light
of the east. Sky, water and shore all united
in one sublime harmony of pearls and grays
of which the grandeur was none the less for
lack of vivid coloring.
</p>
<p>
The discordant note lay in Peggy’s heart.
She was full of the humiliation and bitterness
of trust betrayed. Humiliation because she
had been tricked so easily, and bitterness as
the full realization of her cousin’s treachery
came to her. And General Washington!
What would he think when she did not come
to him as she had promised? He would
deem her a spy. And she was Peggy Owen!
Peggy Owen—who had prided herself on her
love for her country. Oh, it was bitter!
Bitter! And so she stood with unseeing eyes
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283'></a>283</span>
for the grand panorama of bay and shore that
was unfolding before her.
</p>
<p>
The wind was favorable, yet it was past one
of the clock before the vessel made the narrows,
glided past Nutten’s<a name="FNanchor_2" id="FNanchor_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor"><sup>[2]</sup></a> Island, and finally
came to anchor alongside the Whitehall Slip.
Harriet, who had remained below the entire
journey, now came on deck looking much
refreshed.
</p>
<p>
“You foolish Peggy!” she cried. “Of
what use is it to grieve o’er what cannot be
helped? Think you that I did not wish to be
with my people when I was in the rebel camp?”
</p>
<p>
“Thee came there of thine own free will,”
answered Peggy coldly, “while I am here
through no wish of mine. Why did thee
bring me?”
</p>
<p>
“Out of affection, of course,” laughed Harriet.
“Ah! there is father on the shore waiting
for us.”
</p>
<p>
“I thought thee said that he was in the
South,” Peggy reminded her.
</p>
<p>
“One says so many things in war time,”
answered Harriet with a shrug of her shoulders.
“Perchance I intended to say Clifford.”
</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284'></a>284</span></div>
<p>
“And so you are come to return some of
our visits, my little cousin,” cried Colonel
Owen, coming forward from the side of a
coach as they came ashore. “’Twas well
thought. ’Twill be delightsome to return
some of your hospitality.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Cousin William,” cried she, the tears
beginning to flow, “do send me back to my
mother! Oh, I do want my mother!”
</p>
<p>
“Tut, tut!” he rejoined. “Homesick already?
You should have considered that
when you planned to come with Harriet.”
</p>
<p>
“When I what?” exclaimed Peggy, looking
up through her tears.
</p>
<p>
“Planned to come with Harriet,” he repeated
impatiently. “She wrote some time
since that she would bring you. Come! The
dinner waits. We have prepared for you
every day for a week past. I am glad the
waiting is over. Come, my cousin.”
</p>
<p>
And Peggy, seeing that further pleading
was of no avail, entered the coach, silently
determined to make no other appeal. A short
drive brought them to a spacious dwelling
standing in the midst of large grounds in
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285'></a>285</span>
the Richmond Hill district, which was situated
on the western side of Manhattan Island,
a little removed from the city proper. The
building stood on an eminence commanding
a view of the Hudson River and the bay,
for at that time there were no houses or other
buildings to obstruct the vision, and was surrounded
by noble trees. A carefully cultivated
lawn even then, so mild had been the
winter, showing a little green stretched on
one side as far as the road which ran past
the house. On the other was the plot
for the gardens, while in the rear of the
mansion the orchard extended to the river
bank. On every hand was evidence of wealth
and luxury, and Peggy’s heart grew heavy
indeed as she came to know that Colonel
Owen’s poverty had been but another of
Harriet’s fabrications.
</p>
<p>
She sat silent and miserable at the table
while Harriet, who was in high spirits, related
the incidents of the past few days: the finding
of the note in the roadway, the warning of
the governor and the brigade, and how she had
been petted and praised for her heroism. Her
father and Captain Greyling, who had accompanied them
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286'></a>286</span>
home, laughed uproariously at
this.
</p>
<p>
“Upon my life, my cousin,” cried William
Owen, “I wonder not that you are in the
dumps. Fie, fie, Harriet! ’twas most unmannerly
to steal such a march upon your
cousin. For shame! And did our little
cousin weep out her pretty eyes in pique that
you were so fêted?”
</p>
<p>
But Peggy was in no mood for banter.
There was a sparkle in her eyes, and an accent
in her voice that showed that she was not to
be trifled with as she said clearly:
</p>
<p>
“No, Cousin William, I did not weep. It
mattered not who gave the warning so long as
the governor and the brigade received it. It
was most fitting that Harriet should have the
praise, as that was all she got out of it. ’Twas
planned, as thee must know, for her to receive
a more substantial reward.”
</p>
<p>
“You have not lost your gift of a sharp
tongue, I perceive,” he answered a flush
mantling his brow. “Have a care to your
words, my little cousin. You are no longer
in your home, but in mine.”
</p>
<p>
“I am aware of that, sir. But that I am
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287'></a>287</span>
here is by no will of mine. If I am used
despitefully ’tis no more than is to be expected
from those who know naught but guile and
artifice.”
</p>
<p>
“Have done,” he cried, rising from the table.
“Am I to be railed at in mine own house?
Harriet, show this girl to her chamber.”
</p>
<p>
Nothing loth Peggy followed her cousin to
a little room on the second floor, whose one
window looked out upon the noble Hudson
and the distant Jersey shore.
</p>
<p>
“Aren’t you going to be friends, Peggy?”
questioned Harriet pausing at the door. “I
could not do other than I did. Father wished
me to bring you here.”
</p>
<p>
“But why?” asked Peggy turning upon
her. “Why should he want me here? Is it
to flout me?”
</p>
<p>
“I know not, Peggy. But be friends, won’t
you? There is much more sport to be had
here in the city than in yon camp. You shall
share with me in the fun.”
</p>
<p>
“I care not for it,” rejoined Peggy coldly.
“And I will never forgive thee, Harriet Owen.
Never! I see not how thee could act so.”
</p>
<p>
And so saying she turned from her cousin
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288'></a>288</span>
with unmistakable aversion, and walking to
the window gazed with aching heart at the
Jersey shore line. Harriet stood for a moment,
and then went out, closing the door behind
her. Presently Peggy flung herself on the
bed and gave way to her bitter woe in a flood
of tears. For what lay at the bottom of her
bitterness? It was the sharp knowledge that,
with just a little forethought, a little heeding
of her mother’s and John Drayton’s warnings,
all this might have been avoided.
</p>
<p>
Human nature is very weak, and any grief
that comes from our own carelessness, or lack
of thought is harder to bear than that woe
which is caused by untoward circumstances.
But at last tired nature asserted itself, and
Peggy fell asleep.
</p>
<p>
Long hours after she awoke. It was quite
dark in the room, and she was stiff with cold.
For a moment she fancied herself in her own
little room under the eaves at the camp, but
soon a realization of where she was came to
her. She rose and groped her way to the
window. The moon shone upon the river and
the Jersey shore. She looked toward the
latter yearningly.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289'></a>289</span>
</p>
<p>
“Mother,” she whispered with quivering
lips, “mother, what would thee have me to
do?” And suddenly it seemed to her that
she could hear the sweet voice of her mother
saying:
</p>
<p>
“My daughter, thou must bear with meekness
the afflictions that are sent upon thee.
Hast thou not been taught to do good to them
that despitefully use thee?” Peggy uttered a
cry of protest.
</p>
<p>
“I cannot forgive them! They have behaved
treacherously toward me. And my
country! ’Tis not to be endured that I should
be placed in such position toward it. ’Tis
not to be endured, I say.”
</p>
<p>
“Thou hast been close to sacred things all
thy life, my child,” sounded that gentle voice.
“Of what avail hath it been if thy actions are
no different from those of the world? And
thou art not without blame in the matter.”
</p>
<p>
Long Peggy stood at the window. It seemed
to her that her mother was very near to her.
And so communing with that loved mother
the bitterness died out of her heart, and she
wept. No longer virulently, but softly, the
gentle tears of resignation.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290'></a>290</span>
</p>
<p>
“I will try to bear it,” she murmured, as
she crept between the covers of the bed. “I
will be brave, and as good as thee would have
me be, mother. And I will be so truthful in
act and word that it may shame them out of
deceit. And maybe, maybe if I am good a
way will be opened for me to get back to
thee.”
</p>
<p>
And so she fell into a restful sleep.
</p>
<hr class='fnsep' />
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2" id="Footnote_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a>
Now Governor’s Island.
</p></div>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291'></a>291</span><a name='chXXIV' id='chXXIV'></a>CHAPTER XXIV—THE REASON WHY</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>“Yet&#160;remember&#160;this:</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>God&#160;and&#160;our&#160;good&#160;cause&#160;fight&#160;upon&#160;one&#160;side.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>“Richard&#160;III,”&#160;Act&#160;5.</i></p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
It was seven o’clock before Peggy awakened
the next morning. With an exclamation at
her tardiness in rising she dressed hastily, and
went down-stairs. Colonel Owen and Harriet
were already in the dining-room at breakfast.
They brightened visibly as the maiden returned
their greetings serenely, and took her
place at the table.
</p>
<p>
“So you have determined to accept the
situation,” observed Colonel Owen, giving her
a keen glance.
</p>
<p>
“Until a way is opened for me to leave,
sir,” replied Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“Which will be at my pleasure,” he rejoined.
But to this she made no reply. “I am assisting
Colonel Montressor, who is in charge of
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292'></a>292</span>
the defenses of the city,” he remarked presently.
“When your horses are well rested
you girls shall ride about with me.”
</p>
<p>
“We have been riding almost every day the
past winter with father,” said Peggy, trying
not to choke over the word. “The weather
hath been so pleasant that it hath been most
agreeable for riding. There are pretty rides
over the hills and dales near the camp.”
</p>
<p>
“You will find them no less beautiful here,”
he assured her. “And now I must go. Sir
Henry will wish to see you during the day,
Harriet.”
</p>
<p>
“Very well,” she answered. “And I must
see about some new frocks, father. I misdoubt
that my boxes will be sent after me from the
rebel camp. Mr. Washington will not be so
thoughtful anent the matter as Sir Henry was.
I shall need a number of new ones.”
</p>
<p>
“More gowns, Harriet!” he exclaimed.
“You will ruin me by your extravagance.
Haven’t you anything that will do?”
</p>
<p>
“I dare say that I can make shift for a
time,” she replied. “But la! what’s the use
of being in His Majesty’s service unless one
profits by it?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293'></a>293</span>
</p>
<p>
“That seems to be the opinion of every one
connected with it,” he observed grimly.
</p>
<p>
“Harriet,” spoke Peggy timidly, uncertain
as to the manner her proposition would be
received, “I can sew very well indeed. Let me
bring some of thy old frocks up to the mode.
’Twill save thy father money, and in truth
things are monstrously high. That was one
reason mother and I joined father in camp.
Thee admired that cream brocade of mine that
was made from mother’s wedding gown. Let
me see if I cannot do as well with some of
thy finery.”
</p>
<p>
“That’s all very well for you rebels,” spoke
Harriet with some scorn, “but when one is
with English nobility ’tis another matter.
Father, what do you think? They sometimes
wore homespun at camp even to the
dinners. They were always busy at something,
and now here Peggy wants to get right
into sewing. Americans have queer ideas of
amusement.”
</p>
<p>
“If there is one thing that I admire about
the Americans ’tis the manner in which they
bring up their daughters,” remarked her
father with emphasis. “I have yet to see a
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294'></a>294</span>
girl of these colonies who was not proficient
in housewifely arts. If Peggy can help you
fix over some of your things let her. And do
try to pattern after her thrifty ways, Harriet.”
</p>
<p>
“Peggy is quite welcome to fix them for
herself,” said Harriet with a curl of her lips,
and a slight shrug of her shoulders. “I shall
get some new ones.”
</p>
<p>
Colonel Owen sighed, but left the room
without further protest. The conversation
set Peggy to thinking, and observing. There
was indeed luxury on every hand, but there
was also great waste. Wherever the British
army settled they gave themselves up to such
amusements as the city afforded or they could
create. Fear, fraud and incompetence reigned
in every branch of the service, and between
vandalism and the necessities of war New
York suffered all the woes of a besieged city.
In the endeavor to keep pace with his spendthrift
superiors her cousin’s household expenditures
had run into useless excess.
</p>
<p>
Harriet plunged at once into the gaiety of
the city with all the abandon of her nature,
and Peggy, much against her inclination, was
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295'></a>295</span>
of necessity compelled to enter into it also.
There were rides every clear day which revealed
the strong defenses of the city. New
York was in truth but a fortified camp. A
first line of defense extended from the heights
of Corlear’s Hook across the island to the
Hudson. There was still another line further
up near the narrow neck of land below Fort
Washington, while a strong garrison guarded
the outlying post of Kingsbridge. Peggy soon
realized that unless she was given wings she
could never hope to pass the sentinels. Every
afternoon in the Grand Battery along the bay
a German band of hautboys played for the
amusement of the officers and townspeople,
and here Peggy met many of the young
“macaroni” officers or feminine “toasts” of
the city. She grew weary of the incessant
round of entertainments. There had been
much social intercourse at the camp, but it
had been tempered by sobriety, and life was
not wholly given up to it. Peggy resolved
that she would have to occupy herself in other
ways.
</p>
<p>
“Cousin William,” she said one morning,
seeking Colonel Owen in his study, where he
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296'></a>296</span>
sat looking over some papers with a frowning
brow, “may I talk with thee a little?”
</p>
<p>
“Is it anent the matter of home?” he
queried. “I can do nothing, Peggy. You
will have to stay here. We can’t have a rebel
come into our lines and then leave, you
know.”
</p>
<p>
“I know,” she answered sorrowfully. “I
want to go home, but ’twas not of that I came
to speak.”
</p>
<p>
“Of what then?” he asked.
</p>
<p>
“Thee lives so well,” she said with a blush
at her temerity, “and yet, sir, there is so much
waste. Thee could live just as well yet there
need be no excess. I wish, Cousin William,
that thee would let me look after the household
while I am here. I care naught for the
pleasurings, and ’twould occupy me until such
time as thee would let me go home,” she
added a trifle wistfully. “I could not do so
well as mother, but yet I do feel that I could
manage more thriftily than thy servants.”
</p>
<p>
“Peggy,” he cried springing to his feet, “I
hoped for this. You owe me a great deal, and
’tis as well to begin to pay some of your debt.
That is why I brought you here.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297'></a>297</span>
</p>
<p>
“I owe thee anything?” she asked amazed.
“How can that be?”
</p>
<p>
“Think you that I have forgotten the time
spent in your house, my little cousin? Think
you that I, an officer in His Majesty’s service,
do not resent that I was given in exchange
for a dragoon?”
</p>
<p>
“If thee thinks that I owe thee anything,
my cousin, I will be glad to pay it,” said
Peggy regarding him with wondering, innocent
eyes. “I am sorry thee holds aught
against me.”
</p>
<p>
Colonel Owen had the grace to blush.
</p>
<p>
“Harriet hath no housewifely tastes,” he
said hastily, “and my son shares her extravagant
habits. Between them and the necessity
of maintaining a position befitting an
officer, I am like to come to grief. You are
a good little thing, after all, Peggy. And
now let me take you about and put you in
charge.”
</p>
<p>
And thus it came that Peggy found herself
installed at the head of her cousin’s household.
The position was no sinecure. She
made mistakes, for never before had she been
thrown so entirely upon her own resources,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298'></a>298</span>
but she had been well trained, and the result
was soon apparent in the lessened expenditures.
The experience was of great benefit
to her, and she grew womanly and self-reliant
under the charge. Her cousin’s manner
too underwent a most pleasing transformation.
He was kindly, and but seldom made cutting
and sarcastic speeches at her expense. Upon
the other hand, she was subjected to a petty
tyranny from Harriet quite at variance with
her former deportment.
</p>
<p>
And the spring passed into summer; summer
waxed and waned, and in all that time
there had come no word from her father or
mother, nor had there been opportunity for
her to send them any. That the war was
going disastrously against the patriots in the
South she could not but gather from the rejoicings
of the British. Of the capture of
Stony Point on the Hudson by the Americans
she was kept in ignorance. The influx of a
large body of troops and militia into the city,
the surrounding of the island by forty men-of-war,
told that Sir Henry Clinton feared
attack. And so the summer passed.
</p>
<p>
In December the troops from Rhode Island
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299'></a>299</span>
were hastily withdrawn, the city strongly
fortified, and everything indicated a movement
of some kind. Peggy tried to ascertain
what it was, but for some time could not do
so. The snow which had begun falling in
November now increased in the frequency of
the storms, scarcely a day passed without its
fall. The cold became severe, and ice formed
in rivers and bay until at length both the
Hudson and Sound rivers were frozen solidly.
The bay also became as terra firma, and
horses, wagons and artillery passed over the
ice to Staten Island.
</p>
<p>
“Is our stock of fire-wood getting low,
Peggy?” inquired Colonel Owen one morning,
laying down the “Rivington Gazette”
which he was reading. “The paper speaks
of the growing scarcity of wood, and says
that if the severe weather continues we will
be obliged to cut down the trees in the city
for fuel.”
</p>
<p>
“I ordered some yesterday from the woodyards,”
Peggy told him. She was standing
by one of the long windows overlooking the
frozen Hudson. How near New Jersey seemed.
Men and teams were at that moment passing
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300'></a>300</span>
over the ice on their way to and from the
city. How easy it looked to go across. She
turned to him suddenly. “How much longer
am I to stay, Cousin William?” she asked.
</p>
<p>
“Till the war closes,” he said laughing.
As a shadow passed over her face he added:
“And that won’t be much longer, my little
cousin. There is a movement on foot that is
going to bring it to a close before you realize
what hath happened. We have at last got
your Mr. Washington in a cul de sac from
which he cannot escape.”
</p>
<p>
“Where is General Washington, my
cousin?” asked she quickly.
</p>
<p>
“On the heights of Morristown, in New
Jersey. Nay,” he laughed as a sudden eager
light flashed into her eyes, “you cannot reach
him, Peggy. If you could get through the
lines, which you cannot, for the guards have
been increased to prevent surprise, you could
not go through the forest. The snow lies four
feet on the level. You could not get through
the woods. But cheer up! I promise you a
glimpse of your hero soon. The war is on its
last legs.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy gazed after him with troubled eyes
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301'></a>301</span>
as he left the room. What was the new movement
on foot? Pondering the matter much
she went about the duties of the day. About
the middle of the forenoon an ox cart with
the wood she had ordered drove into the
stable yard. She uttered an exclamation of
vexation as she saw the ragged heap which
the driver was piling. Throwing a wrap
about her she hurried into the yard where
the team was.
</p>
<p>
“Friend,” she called severely, for Peggy
looked well to the ways of the household,
“that is not the way to unload the wood. It
must be corded so that it can be measured.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, mistress,” answered the driver, touching
his hat.
</p>
<p>
Peggy started. He had given the military
salute instead of the usual curtsey of the
countryman. She looked at him intently.
There was something strangely familiar about
him, she thought, but he was so bundled up
that she could only see his eyes. Whistling
cheerfully the driver began to cord the wood
as she directed.
</p>
<p>
“Thou art not o’erstrong for the work,” she
commented as he struggled valiantly with a
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302'></a>302</span>
great stick. “I will send one of the stablemen
to help thee.”
</p>
<p>
“Wait, Peggy,” he said in a low tone.
</p>
<p>
“John!” almost screamed the girl. “John
Drayton!”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303'></a>303</span><a name='chXXV' id='chXXV'></a>CHAPTER XXV—THE ALERT THAT FAILED</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“What&#160;gain&#160;we&#160;by&#160;our&#160;toils&#160;if&#160;he&#160;escape</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Whom&#160;we&#160;came&#160;hither&#160;solely&#160;to&#160;subdue?”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—“Count&#160;Julian,”&#160;<i>Landor</i>.</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
“Be careful,” warned Drayton, letting the
stick fall with a crash. “Can you come to
Rachel Fenton’s house in little Queen Street
this morning? We can talk there.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, yes,” cried Peggy eagerly. “I know
where it is. I will go there from market.
John, my mother——”
</p>
<p>
“Is well,” he answered quickly. “Don’t
ask anything more now, but go in. ’Tis cold
out here.”
</p>
<p>
“But thee?” she questioned loth to leave
him.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, I’m used to it,” he responded airily.
“Just send along that stableman though,
Peggy. These sticks are heavy. And say!
Is’t permitted to feed drivers of carts? There
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304'></a>304</span>
are not many rations just now in Morristown,
and I’d really like to eat once more.”
</p>
<p>
“Thee shall have all thee wants,” she assured
him. “But oh, John! if they should
find out who thee is! Thou art mad to venture
into the city.”
</p>
<p>
“If they will wait until I’ve eaten they
may do their worst,” he replied with a touch
of his old jauntiness. “No; I don’t mean
that, for I’ve come to take you back with me.
That is, if you want to go?”
</p>
<p>
“I do, I do,” she told him almost in tears.
</p>
<p>
“Then go right in,” he commanded.
“Won’t your cousins suspect something if
they see you talking like this to a countryman?”
</p>
<p>
“They will think I am scolding thee,” she
said with a tremulous little laugh. “And
truly thee needs it, John. I never saw a cord
of wood piled so crookedly before in my life.”
</p>
<p>
“They’ll be glad to get wood in any shape
if this weather keeps on, I’m thinking,” he
made answer. “Now do go right in, Peggy.
And don’t forget that stableman.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy hastened within doors, sent the man
to help with the wood, and then tried to regain her
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305'></a>305</span>
usual composure by preparing a meal
for Drayton.
</p>
<p>
“The poor lad,” was her mental comment
a little later as she watched the young fellow
stow away the food that was placed before
him. “He eats as though he had had nothing
all winter.”
</p>
<p>
This was nearer truth than she dreamed.
Had she but known the condition of the army
at Morristown she would not have wondered
at the boy’s voraciousness. She hovered about
him, attending to his needs carefully, longing
but not daring to ask the many questions
that crowded to her lips. It would not do to
risk conversation of any sort in the house.
There were too many coming and going. As
it was the servants gazed at her in surprise,
curious as to her interest in a teamster. The
meal finished, Drayton rose with a word of
thanks, and crossed to the fire which blazed
upon the kitchen hearth.
</p>
<p>
Peggy felt a sudden apprehension as she
heard Harriet’s step in the hall. What if she
should enter the kitchen? Would Drayton
be safe from the keen scrutiny of her sharp
eyes? The lad himself seemed to feel no uneasiness,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306'></a>306</span>
but hung over the roaring fire of
hickory logs as though reluctant to leave its
warmth. Making a pretense of replenishing
the fire Peggy whispered:
</p>
<p>
“Go, go! Harriet is coming.” Drayton
roused himself with a start, drew his wrappings
close about him, and, giving her a
significant look, passed through the outside
door just as Harriet entered the room from
the passage.
</p>
<p>
“Who was that, Peggy?” she asked sharply.
</p>
<p>
“The man with the wood,” answered Peggy
busied about the fire. “I gave him something
to eat.”
</p>
<p>
“Mercy, Peggy! Is it necessary to feed
such riffraff? They are all a pack of rebels.
No wonder father complains of expense.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy’s cheeks flamed with indignation.
“Would thee send any one away in such
weather without first giving him food?” she
demanded. “’Twould be inhuman!”
</p>
<p>
“And I suppose thee wouldn’t treat a
Britisher so,” mimicked Harriet who was
plainly in a bad humor. “Did father tell you
that Sir Henry Clinton was to dine here to-day?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307'></a>307</span>
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” returned Peggy gravely. “’Tis
fortunate that ’tis market day, for there are
some things needed. I shall have to use the
sleigh. Thee won’t mind? I cannot get into
the city otherwise.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, take it, by all means,” replied Harriet.
“I wouldn’t go out in this weather for
a dozen Sir Henrys. La, la! ’tis cold!”
She shivered in spite of the great fire. “What
doth father wish to see Sir Henry alone for?”
she asked abruptly. “He told me but now
that he did not desire my company after dinner.
And I had learned a new piece on the
harpsichord, too,” she ended pettishly.
</p>
<p>
“I know not, Harriet,” said Peggy instantly
troubled. She did not doubt but that it had
something to do with the movement against
General Washington, but she did not utter
her suspicion. “Mayhap ’tis business of
moment.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, yes; I dare say,” retorted Harriet.
She yawned, and left the room.
</p>
<p>
Peggy gave the necessary orders for the
dinner and then quietly arrayed herself for
the marketing. She was allowed a certain
freedom of movement, and went into the city
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308'></a>308</span>
about business of the household without question.
With scrupulous conscientiousness she
attended to the marketing first, and then bidding
the coachman wait for her, went rapidly
to Little Queen Street on foot.
</p>
<p>
She had met with but few Quakers. They
were regarded as neutrals, but Colonel Owen
disliked them as a sect and had forbidden her
to hold communication with them. Still
Peggy knew where many of them lived, and
among these was Rachel Kenton. It was a
quaint Dutch house, easily found. New York
was not so large as Philadelphia at this time,
and Peggy hastened up the stoop with eagerness,
her heart beating with delight at the
prospect of at last hearing from her dear ones.
</p>
<p>
A pleasant-faced, sweet-mannered woman
responded to her knock, and ushered her at
once into a room just off the sitting-room,
where Drayton sat awaiting her. She ran to
him with outstretched hands.
</p>
<p>
“Now I can tell thee how glad I am to see
thee,” she cried. “And oh, John, do tell me
of my mother! And father! How are
they?”
</p>
<p>
“Both are well,” he answered, “but they
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309'></a>309</span>
have grieved over your going away. Why did
you leave camp, Peggy?”
</p>
<p>
“’Twas because of Harriet,” she told him.
“She was a spy, John. They would have
hanged her had they found out that it was
she who wrote that note. And oh, what did
General Washington say when he found me
gone? It hath been so long since then, and
never a word could I hear.”
</p>
<p>
“Well, he was pretty much cut up over it,
and so were we all. Your mother thought
that Harriet must be at the bottom of the
matter, and so did I. Her boxes were searched,
and some notes found that proved she was a
spy. Then, too, we made that fellow confess
to everything he knew. You remember him,
Peggy? He accused you.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” answered Peggy. “I remember,
John. I can never forget how I felt when he
accused me of being the girl who gave him
that letter. And it wasn’t the same one at
all.”
</p>
<p>
“We got at the whole affair right well,”
continued Drayton. “What we could not
understand was the fact that you came on to
New York with your cousin. Why did you?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310'></a>310</span>
</p>
<p>
“I couldn’t help it,” she said. “They
brought me by force. I begged to go back, but
they wouldn’t let me.” Hereupon she told
him the whole story, ending with: “And
Cousin William says that he had a score to
settle with me—and that was the reason he
wanted me to come. John, thee will tell the
general that I could not help coming?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” he said, with difficulty restraining
his indignation. “Peggy, Harriet would not
have been hanged. They might have sent
her out of the lines, or even made her a
prisoner, but they would not have hanged her.
Not but what she would have deserved it just
as much as that poor fellow who was hanged
agreeable to his sentence, but being a girl
would have saved her.”
</p>
<p>
“But thee said that it went hard with spies,
whether they were men, women, or girls even,”
objected she. “And General Washington
used almost the same words.”
</p>
<p>
“And so it does,” he replied, “but there
are other punishments than hanging. Never
mind that now, Peggy. Let us plan to get
away. I must take the ox cart back into
Jersey this afternoon. I have a pass for one
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311'></a>311</span>
only, but I am to take back salt, coffee and
flour. There is an empty sack, and if you
will hide within it we may be able to pass you
as merchandise. Will you try it, Peggy?”
</p>
<p>
“I will do anything,” she declared excitedly.
“It hath been so long! So long,
John, since I have seen mother that I am
willing to attempt anything.”
</p>
<p>
“Wrap up well,” he advised her. “’Tis
terrible weather, and be somewhere among the
trees as I come past the house. It will be
about half-past four, as it grows dark then,
and the bags will not be so sharply scrutinized.
Once the cart is home we will have to run
our chances of getting to Morristown.”
</p>
<p>
“John,” she cried as a sudden thought
came to her, “there is some movement on
foot against the general. I did not think to
tell thee before. I know not what it is.”
</p>
<p>
Drayton looked up quickly.
</p>
<p>
“I wish we knew what it was,” he said.
“There have been signs of an action on the
part of the British, but we have been unable
to obtain an inkling of what it could be. I
would like right well to know.”
</p>
<p>
“And so would I,” said she.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312'></a>312</span>
</p>
<p>
“Go now,” he said rising. “You must not
let them suspect there is anything afoot, Peggy.
I will move about in the city and see what I
can find out. Be sure to wrap up.”
</p>
<p>
“I will,” she told him. “I hate to let thee
go.”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis only for a little while,” he answered.
“’Twill be a hard journey for you, Peggy, but
your mother is at the end of it.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, yes,” she cried. “Mother is at the
end.”
</p>
<p>
Unable to speak further she turned and left
him. The day was extremely cold, and as she
entered the house after the drive, and felt the
warmth of the fire, she became aware of a
delicious drowsiness that was stealing over her.
</p>
<p>
“This will never do,” she exclaimed, trying
to shake off the feeling. “I must keep awake.”
But try as she would her eyelids grew heavier
until finally she sought Harriet in the drawingroom.
</p>
<p>
“Harriet,” she said, “will thee serve the
dinner? I am so sleepy from the drive that I
must lie down a few moments. I know right
well that I should not give up, but——”
</p>
<p>
“Nonsense,” cried Harriet crossly; “go lie
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313'></a>313</span>
down an you will, Peggy. One would think
to hear you talk that dinner could not be
served without you. ’Tis provoking the airs
you give yourself! I dare say you will not be
missed.”
</p>
<p>
“Thank thee, Harriet,” answered Peggy.
“Thee will not find it irksome. ’Tis about
ready.” The tired girl slipped down to the
now empty drawing-room.
</p>
<p>
“I fear me I must hide if I want a minute
to myself,” she thought, gazing about the
large room in search of a safe retreat. “And
I must have my wits about me to help John.
If I can but close my eyes for a moment, just
a moment, I will be in proper trim.” Presently
she spied the large easy chair much
affected by Colonel Owen, and she ran toward
it with an exclamation of delight.
</p>
<p>
“’Tis the very thing!” she cried, drawing
it to the most remote corner of the room, and
turning it about so that it faced the wall.
“Now let them find me if they can.” And
so saying she ensconced herself in its capacious
recesses, and almost instantly fell
asleep.
</p>
<p>
“And you think the plan will not miscarry?” came the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314'></a>314</span>
voice of the commander-in-chief
of the British forces in America.
</p>
<p>
Peggy awoke with a start. Was she dreaming
or did she in truth hear her cousin say:
</p>
<p>
“There is not the least chance of it, Sir
Henry. The rebel general hath his quarters
full two miles from his main army, and owing
to the cold and the snow no danger is
apprehended; so his guards are trifling. We
can easily slip upon him and be away with
him before mishap can befall us. Once we
have possession of his person the whole rebellion
falls to the ground. It all depends upon
him.”
</p>
<p>
“True,” was the reply in musing tones.
“Well, colonel, I have placed the flower of
the army at your disposal. But let this alert<a name="FNanchor_3" id="FNanchor_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor"><sup>[3]</sup></a>
succeed and it shall be brought to His Majesty’s
notice that ’tis you alone to whom honor
is due. ’Tis my hope that ’twill not fail.”
</p>
<p>
“It cannot,” replied Colonel Owen in eager
tones. “We leave at nightfall by way of
Newark. Just beyond Newark on the Morris
turnpike lives one Amos Henderson, who is
favorable to us, and much laments this broil
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315'></a>315</span>
against the king. He it is who will have a
guide ready to take us to the heights of
Morristown. In twenty-four hours, sir, I will
bring the rebel general in person to your
quarters.“
</p>
<p>
“I see not how it can fail,” remarked Sir
Henry. “The utmost secrecy hath been
maintained concerning the matter. But did
you not say that dinner was served? That,
sir, is a function with which nothing short of
a rebel attack should interfere. The plan of
the new works, which Montressor says you
have, can be discussed afterward.”
</p>
<p>
“Come, then,” said the colonel.
</p>
<p>
Peggy slipped from the chair and running
up-stairs quickly to her own room, sat down
to think.
</p>
<p>
“I must not go with John,” was her decision.
“He must get to the general without
delay. They said ’twould end the war if he
were taken. And it would. It would! I
wonder what the time is?”
</p>
<p>
It was but half-past two, and it seemed to
the anxious girl as though four o’clock, which
was the time for Drayton’s appearance, would
never come. But at last she heard the clock
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316'></a>316</span>
in the hall chime out the hour, and Peggy
arose, wrapped herself warmly, and left the
house quietly. The snow was still falling.
The numerous trees on the wide-spreading
lawn, as well as the huge snow-drifts, effectually
hid the road from view of the mansion.
</p>
<p>
Peggy had scarcely taken her position near
a bare thicket when she heard the crunch of
wheels over the snow, and soon the ox cart
appeared down the road. Drayton was whistling,
and to all appearance was the countryman
he seemed. Peggy awaited him with
impatience.
</p>
<p>
“John,” she cried as the lad drew up opposite
her, “John, there is an alert planned
to take General Washington. Cousin William
starts at nightfall for Morristown with a force
to accomplish it.”
</p>
<p>
“What?” exclaimed he. Peggy repeated
her statement, and then quickly told him the
entire affair.
</p>
<p>
“And thee must lose no time,” she said.
“Go right on, John, quickly.”
</p>
<p>
“And you, Peggy?” he cried. “Jump in
and let us take the risk of getting through
together.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_317'></a>317</span>
</p>
<p>
“No,” she said. “Thee must stop for nothing.
’Twould hinder thee in getting to the
general. Now go, John. ’Twill not be long
ere the troops gather here.”
</p>
<p>
“But to leave you, Peggy,” he exclaimed.
“I like it not. Were it not for the chief I
would not. It may be best. As you say
there is need for haste, but I will come again
for you.”
</p>
<p>
“No, no; ’tis too full of risk,” she said.
“Go, John, go! I fear for thee every moment
that thee stays.”
</p>
<p>
“I am going,” he said sorrowfully. “Tell
me by which road this alert goes?”
</p>
<p>
“To Newark, and then by the Morris turnpike.
They get a guide at Amos Henderson’s,”
she told him.
</p>
<p>
“Good-bye,” he said. “I will come again
for you, Peggy.”
</p>
<p>
“Good-bye, John,” answered Peggy hardly
able to speak. “And tell my mother—my
mother, John——”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” he said. They clasped hands.
“Don’t worry, Peggy. This will be the alert
that failed.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy waited until she could no longer
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_318'></a>318</span>
hear his cheery whistle down the road and
then stole back into the house.
</p>
<p>
Drayton was right. Four and twenty hours
later the most disgruntled lot of Britishers
that the city ever beheld returned, fatigued
and half frozen from their fruitless quest.
The famous alert from which so much was
hoped had failed.
</p>
<hr class='fnsep' />
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3" id="Footnote_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a>
“Alert,” an old word meaning an attack.
</p></div>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_319'></a>319</span><a name='chXXVI' id='chXXVI'></a>CHAPTER XXVI—THE BATTLE WITH THE ELEMENTS</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“Southward&#160;with&#160;fleet&#160;of&#160;ice</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;&#160;Sailed&#160;the&#160;corsair&#160;Death;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Wild&#160;and&#160;fast&#160;blew&#160;the&#160;blast</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;&#160;And&#160;the&#160;east&#160;wind&#160;was&#160;his&#160;breath.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>Longfellow.</i></p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
“There is but one explanation to the whole
thing,” growled Colonel Owen the next morning.
With the two girls for an audience he was
voicing his disappointment at the failure of
the alert, and incidentally nursing a frost-bitten
foot. “And that is that the guide purposely
led us astray.”
</p>
<p>
“But why a guide at all, father?” questioned
Harriet. “The highway is easily followed.”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis the snow,” he explained irritably.
“All roads are buried under four or more feet
of it. Landmarks are obliterated and the
forest but a trackless waste. ’Tis no wonder
the fellow lost his way, though, methinks.
’Twas as though he knew our errand, and
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_320'></a>320</span>
kept us floundering among the drifts purposely.”
</p>
<p>
“Belike he did,” observed Harriet. “What
with Peggy feeding all the rabble that comes
along ’tis small wonder that your plots and
plans become known to the rebels. I bethought
me the other day when she had that
teamster in the kitchen that he was a spy.
Now I make no doubt of it.”
</p>
<p>
“What’s all this?” demanded her father
sharply. “What teamster are you talking
about, Harriet?”
</p>
<p>
“’Twas the man who brought the wood,
Cousin William,” explained Peggy, trying to
speak quietly. “Harriet objected at the time
to his being fed, but ’twould have been unkind
not to give him cheer when ’twas so cold.”
</p>
<p>
“But that is no reason why you should
talk with him,” sneered Harriet. “I saw that
parley you held when he was throwing off the
wood.”
</p>
<p>
“Did you talk to him, Peggy?” Colonel
Owen regarded her keenly.
</p>
<p>
“Why, yes,” she answered. “I went out
to scold him because he was piling the wood
in such a way that it could not be measured.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_321'></a>321</span>
</p>
<p>
“There was naught amiss about that,” he
remarked with a relieved expression. “Nor
about the food either, if that was all there was
to it.”
</p>
<p>
“But was it all?” queried Harriet. “The
servants said that Peggy was over-solicitous
anent the fellow.”
</p>
<p>
“Peggy!” Colonel Owen faced the maiden
abruptly. “Let us have this matter settled
at once. You usually speak truth. Do so in
this instance, I beg of you. Was the wood
and feeding the man all there was to the
affair?”
</p>
<p>
Peggy did not reply.
</p>
<p>
“There is more then,” he said. “Your
silence speaks for you. I demand now to
know if this fellow was responsible for the
failure of our plan to captivate the rebel
general?”
</p>
<p>
But Peggy was not going to betray Drayton’s
disguise if she could help it, and neither
would she speak an untruth. So she met her
kinsman’s glance with one as direct as his
own as she answered, “I am to blame for thy
plan going amiss, Cousin William.”
</p>
<p>
“You?” he exclaimed incredulously.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_322'></a>322</span>
“Why, you knew naught of it. I was careful
that even Harriet should not know it.”
</p>
<p>
“I was in the drawing-room,” she told him
boldly, “when thee and thy commander were
discussing the plan. I heard the whole plot.
While the dinner was being served I slipped
out and sent word to the general.”
</p>
<p>
“By whom?” he asked controlling his
anger with difficulty. “By whom did you
send word?”
</p>
<p>
“That, sir, I will not tell,” responded she
resolutely.
</p>
<p>
“And do you know what this action hath
cost me?” he thundered, livid with rage. “A
knighthood and fortune. Was not the account
long enough betwixt us that you must
add this to it? To come here and play the
spy in mine own house. ’Tis monstrous!”
</p>
<p>
“I did not come here of my own accord,”
she reminded him becoming very pale. “If I
have played the spy ’tis no more than thy
daughter did for many months in our house.
I will gladly relieve thee of my presence at
any time that thee will let me go.”
</p>
<p>
“You shall not go—now or at any time,”
he stormed, his voice shaking in its fury.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_323'></a>323</span>
“Moreover I shall put it out of your power to
work any further harm here. Sir Henry
Clinton leaves for the South in a few days. I
shall go with him, and take you both with
me.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, father!” wailed Harriet. “Not me?”
</p>
<p>
“You too,” he answered. “You and this
marplot of a girl, who hath spoiled a most
feasible plan of ending the rebellion.” He
glared at Peggy for a moment with a look
that made her tremble and then stalked out
of the room.
</p>
<p>
“Just see what you have done, Peggy
Owen,” cried Harriet, her eyes ablaze with
wrath. “Now we’ll have to go I know not
how far away, to some old place where there
is no fun. Just mind your own affairs after
this, will you?”
</p>
<p>
“No,” replied Peggy stoutly, though her
heart swelled at the thought of going upon a
journey that would take her further away
from home. Like most girls of the period
she was hazy about the geography of the
country, and the South seemed an indefinite
somewhere a long way off. “No, Harriet,
my affairs are those of the rebels, as thee calls
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_324'></a>324</span>
them. If at any time I hear aught planned
either against them or the general, and ’tis in
my power to warn them, I tell thee frankly
that I shall do so.”
</p>
<p>
“I shall go right to father with that,” cried
Harriet, and in turn she flounced out of the
room.
</p>
<p>
In spite of her brave words, however,
Peggy’s tears fell like rain as she slipped
down to the stable and flung her arms about
Star’s neck.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Star, Star!” she sobbed. “I’ll never
see mother again, I fear me. Oh, what shall
I do? What shall I do?”
</p>
<p>
Sir Henry Clinton was to set sail for
Savannah, Georgia, which had fallen into the
hands of the British in December of the preceding
year. The province, after being overrun
by the army in an incursion of savage
warfare, appeared to be restored to the crown,
and now Charleston was to be taken and
South Carolina restored to its allegiance by
the same method. North Carolina and Virginia
were to follow in turn, and the campaign
in the South concluded by a triumphal march
back through Delaware, Pennsylvania, and
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_325'></a>325</span>
New Jersey, until Washington would be between
the two British armies. Then, with an
attack from New York simultaneous with one
from the rear, the Continentals would be
swept out of existence. This, in brief, was the
British plan of campaign for the ensuing year,
and the English commander-in-chief was setting
forth for its accomplishment.
</p>
<p>
Colonel Owen’s determination to go with
his chief seemed to grow firmer the more Harriet
pleaded with him to stay, and the day
after Christmas they set sail in the schooner
“Falcon.” Reinforced by Admiral Arbuthnot
with new supplies of men and stores from
England the British were jubilantly sure of
success, and set forth with their transports
under convoy of five ships of the line.
</p>
<p>
“We shall have our horses with us, anyway,”
declared Harriet, who brightened up
wonderfully once they were under way, and
addressing Peggy with the first gleam of good
humor that she had shown since it had been
decided that they should accompany her
father. “I saw to it that they were sent
aboard with the cavalry horses, on one of the
transports. I dare say there will be a chance
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_326'></a>326</span>
for rides. At any rate ’twill not be so cold as
it hath been in New York.”
</p>
<p>
“I suppose not,” agreed Peggy sadly. She
was calling all her resolution to aid her to
bear this new trial.
</p>
<p>
The early part of the voyage was extremely
fortunate. The sea was smooth, the sky clear,
the air sharp but kindly. To Peggy’s surprise
she was not at all sick, and her spirits rose in
spite of her sorrow at her separation from her
mother. With the closing in of the night of
the fourth day out, however, they fell in with
foul winds and heavy weather. The wind
began to whirl, and the sea to lift itself and
dash spray over the schooner until the decks
were as glassy as a skating pond. The temperature
fell rapidly. All day Sunday the
ships went on under this sort of weather which
was not at all unusual for the time of year,
but the next day the weather began to quiet,
and the waves sank gradually to a long swell
through which the vessels went with ease.
</p>
<p>
The whole surface of the sea was like a
great expanse of molten silver which shimmered
and sparkled under the rays of the
wintry sun. The prospect was now for a
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_327'></a>327</span>
smooth voyage, and the sailormen scraped the
ice from rail and deck, and the passengers who
had been confined to the cabin now came on
deck and raced about like children under the
influence of the pure air. The sky was very
clear above, but all around the horizon a low
haze lay upon the water.
</p>
<p>
“Isn’t this glorious, Peggy?” cried Harriet
dancing about the deck like a wind sprite.
“After all, there is nothing like the sea.”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis wonderful,” answered Peggy with awe
in her tone. The vast spread of the waters,
the immensity of the sky, the intense silence
through which the creaking of the boats as
they swung at the davits, and the straining of
the shrouds as the ship rolled sounded loud
and clear, all appealed to her sense of the sublime.
</p>
<p>
“I hope ’twill be as fine as this all the way
to Georgia,” said Harriet. “And that seems to
be the prospect.”
</p>
<p>
The captain of the vessel, a bluff Englishman,
was passing at the moment and caught
the last remark. He paused beside the
maidens.
</p>
<p>
“It won’t be fine long,” he declared gruffly.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_328'></a>328</span>
“With a ground swell and a sinking temperature
always look for squalls. Look there at
the north!” The haze on the horizon to the
north was rather thicker than elsewhere, and
a few thin streaky clouds straggled across the
clear, cold heavens. It told nothing to the
girls, but the skipper’s face grew grave, and he
hurried forward to give some commands.
</p>
<p>
“Furl topsails!” he shouted to the mate,
“and have the mainsails reefed down!”
</p>
<p>
“Ay, ay, sir,” came the response, and instantly
the men began hauling at the halliards,
or sprang to the yards above to tuck away the
great sails making all snug for the coming
storm.
</p>
<p>
Even Peggy, unused to the sea as she was,
could see that a storm was about to burst upon
them. The north was now one great rolling
black cloud with an angry ragged fringe which
bespoke the violence of the wind that drove
it. The whole great mass was sweeping onward
with majestic rapidity, darkening the
ocean beneath it.
</p>
<p>
“Get below there,” shouted the captain as
he suddenly caught sight of the two girls still
standing on deck watching the approach of
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_329'></a>329</span>
the storm with fascinated eyes. “Get below,
I say! D’ye want to be blowed away?
Here she comes!”
</p>
<p>
As he spoke the wind broke in all its fury.
The schooner heeled over until her lee rail
touched the water, and lay so for a moment
in a smother of foam. Gradually she rose a
little, staggered and trembled like a living
thing, and then plunged away through the
storm.
</p>
<p>
It was a wild and dreary night that followed.
Shut in the dark of the cabin Peggy and Harriet
clung to each other, or to lockers, to keep
from being dashed across the floor of the tossing
vessel. All night long there was no chance
for sleep. Every moment it seemed as though
the ship must go down at the next onslaught
of the waves.
</p>
<p>
“I like not to be mewed up like this,”
objected Harriet when there came a chance for
speech. “I like the feel of the wind and the
hail and the spray.”
</p>
<p>
“Is thee not afraid, Harriet?” questioned
Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“I am, down here,” answered her cousin.
“I can stand any danger best that I can face.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_330'></a>330</span>
But they will not let us up. We might be
swept away even if we could stand. And
listen to the shouts, Peggy. There must be
something amiss.”
</p>
<p>
And so on all through the long night. The
dawn broke at last and brought with it a slight
abatement of the tempest, but with the lessening
gale came a new form of assault. The air
was colder. A heavy fog rolled up and
through it came a blinding snow-storm, fairly
choking the deck of the ship.
</p>
<p>
For three days the girls were confined to
the cabin, with but biscuits to nibble on.
The fourth the wind fell at last, leaving the
vessel rudderless and dismasted, and heaving
on vast billows.
</p>
<p>
“There is but one hope for us,” said Colonel
Owen as he explained the damage to the girls,
“and that is to be picked up by another
vessel.”
</p>
<p>
“Is it so bad as that, father?” questioned
his daughter.
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” he answered gloomily.
</p>
<p>
But over the inky shroud of the ocean white
capped and furious there shone no sign of a
sail. The snow had ceased falling, but it was
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_331'></a>331</span>
bitterly cold. The fifth and sixth days they
tossed helplessly, but on the seventh day
Peggy turned to her cousin with a startled
query.
</p>
<p>
“Harriet,” she cried, “does thee hear that
throbbing sound? What is it?”
</p>
<p>
Harriet Owen paled as she listened. “That,
Peggy,” she said after a moment, “is the
noise of the pumps. The ship hath sprung a
leak.”
</p>
<p>
At this moment Colonel Owen came from
the deck. He was visibly pale, and much
troubled in manner. “Wrap yourselves as
warmly as possible,” he advised them. “’Tis
but a question of time now ere we must take
to the boats, and there is no telling to what
ye may be subjected before reaching land, if
in truth we ever tread foot on solid ground
again. Hasten!”
</p>
<p>
His warning was well timed; for, as he
ceased speaking, there came hoarse shouts
from above, a rush of hurrying feet, and the
chugging of the pumps stopped. He ran up
the hatchway, and was back almost instantly.
“The boats are being lowered,” he informed
them. “Throw what you can about you and
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_332'></a>332</span>
come. If we dally we may be left behind.
Men become beasts in a time like this.”
</p>
<p>
The girls obeyed him with the utmost haste.
They were both colorless, but composed. On
deck a wild scene was being enacted. The
ship no longer rose to the waves, and even to
an inexperienced eye was settling. That
it was time to lower the boats was plain to be
seen. The captain was trying to preserve
something like order among the crew, but the
hour for discipline had gone by.
</p>
<p>
“Women first,” he was crying in trumpet
tones. “Men, remember your wives and
daughters. Would ye have them left as ye
are leaving these?”
</p>
<p>
But over the side of the vessel the men
scrambled with fierce cries and imprecations,
paying no heed either to his commands or
pleadings. They swarmed into the boats,
fighting for places like wild animals. The
frail barks went down to the water loaded
until the gunwales were lapped by the
smallest waves. The skipper turned to Colonel
Owen.
</p>
<p>
“The dingey is left, sir,” he said. “If you
will help me to defend it from the rest of
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_333'></a>333</span>
these brutes, we may be able to get these girls
into it.”
</p>
<p>
“I will do my utmost,” rejoined the colonel.
“Harriet, do you and Peggy stand behind me.
When the boat is lowered be ready to get into
it as soon as the captain speaks.”
</p>
<p>
Colonel Owen faced the few remaining men
with drawn pistols as the boat was let down.
The first mate took his place, and stood ready
to receive the maidens.
</p>
<p>
“Go, Harriet,” said her father. But to
Peggy’s amazement her cousin turned to her,
crying, “You first, Peggy! You first!”
</p>
<p>
“But,” cried Peggy her heart flooded with
sudden warmth at this unlooked-for solicitude,
“I cannot leave thee, Harriet. I——”
</p>
<p>
“Stop that nonsense!” exclaimed Colonel
Owen gruffly. “We have no time for it. Get
into the boat at once.”
</p>
<p>
Without further comment Peggy permitted
herself to be handed down into the boat, and
as she reached it in safety she looked expectantly
up for Harriet to follow. At that
moment came a hoarse cry from the skipper.
</p>
<p>
“Cast off, Mr. Davy! Cast off! You’ll be
swamped.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_334'></a>334</span>
</p>
<p>
The mate pulled away just as half a dozen
frantic seamen leaped from the deck toward
the boat. The swirl of the waters caught it,
turning it round and round by the force.
With a great effort he succeeded in sending it
out of the eddy just in time to avoid being
drawn under by the drowning seamen. Again
making a strenuous effort to get beyond their
reach he sent the dingey scudding to westward,
was caught by a current, and carried further
away from the vessel.
</p>
<p>
“What is it?” asked Peggy as she caught a
glimpse of his whitening face.
</p>
<p>
“God help them,” broke from him. “We
are caught in the current and can’t get back
to the ‘Falcon.’”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_335'></a>335</span>
</p>
<div><a name='fig345' id='fig345'></a></div>
<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<a name='i007' id='i007'></a>
<img src="images/illus345.jpg" alt="THE DINGEY WAS CAUGHT BY A CURRENT" title=""/><br />
<span class='caption'>THE DINGEY WAS CAUGHT BY A CURRENT</span>
</div>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_336'></a>336</span><a name='chXXVII' id='chXXVII'></a>CHAPTER XXVII—A HAVEN AFTER THE STORM</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“Safe&#160;through&#160;the&#160;war&#160;her&#160;course&#160;the&#160;vessel&#160;steers,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>The&#160;haven&#160;gained,&#160;the&#160;pilot&#160;drops&#160;his&#160;fears.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>Shirley.</i></p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
“We must,” burst from Peggy, springing
up wildly. “Oh, friend, can’t thee do something?
We must not leave them.”
</p>
<p>
“Sit still,” commanded the mate sharply.
“Why, look you! We can’t even see the
‘Falcon’ for the fog.”
</p>
<p>
It was true. Already the hapless “Falcon”
had been swallowed up by the dense veil of
vapor. It was as if the doomed vessel had
been cut off from all the open sea, and its fate
hidden in the clinging curtain of black obscurity.
</p>
<p>
The girl uttered a low cry, and sank back
to her place in the sheets covering her face
with her hands. Colonel Owen and Harriet
had been unkind. They had been selfish almost
to cruelty in their treatment of her, but
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_337'></a>337</span>
in this hour of what she believed to be certain
death to them she forgot everything but that
they were kinspeople.
</p>
<p>
The sea was running very high. Now that
they were so near its surface they felt its full
power. It had appeared stupendous when
they were on the deck of the schooner, but
now the great billows hurled them up and
down, and tossed and buffeted them as though
the boat was a plaything. Vainly the mate
tried to steady it with the oars.
</p>
<p>
A long time Peggy sat so absorbed in grief
for her cousins that she was oblivious to the
peril of the situation. At length, however,
she looked up, and the dreadful isolation and
danger of the position appalled her. Only
that little boat between them and the great
Atlantic.
</p>
<p>
“I am cold,” she exclaimed, when she could
bear it no longer. “Sir,” to the mate, who
was making tremendous effort with the oars,
“is there naught that will keep me from
freezing?”
</p>
<p>
“No,” answered he shortly, turning his set
face toward her for a moment. Its tense lines
relaxed at sight of the girlish figure. “Stay!
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_338'></a>338</span>
I have it. Come, and row a while. You will
be wetter than ever, but ’twill warm you a
bit.”
</p>
<p>
Without a question Peggy gladly took the
place by his side, and began to scull as vigorously
as her numbed fingers would permit
with the oar he gave her. She was not of
much assistance, but the exercise served to
warm her chilled frame, and to divert her attention
from their peril.
</p>
<p>
In this manner the day went on, the wind
died down, and the sea fell to a low, glassy,
foam-flecked roll, while overhead brooded the
inky sky, and round them was the leaden
mist of the enveloping fog. Suddenly the
mate stopped rowing, and raised his head as
though listening.
</p>
<p>
“It’s land,” he shouted. “Land, to the
westward!” He listened again intently, and
added solemnly: “And it’s breakers too, God
help us!”
</p>
<p>
Peggy listened breathlessly. The air was
full of sound, a low, deep roar, like the roll of
a thousand wheels, the tramp of endless armies,
or—what it was—the thunder of a mighty
surge upon a pebbly ridge. Louder and nearer
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_339'></a>339</span>
grew the sound. The mate’s face whitened,
and Peggy sat erect, full of terror at the unknown
danger that confronted them.
</p>
<p>
“I must pull,” he cried, sweeping her back
to her place in the sheets. “I must pull,” he
cried again as the fog lifted and the dim outline
of a shore line became visible. “It’s a
race with death, little girl, but we may be the
victors.”
</p>
<p>
With mighty strokes he sent the dingey
ahead into the boiling surf. A great wave
caught the little shallop upon its broad bosom
and flung it upon the reef which lay concealed
in the foam. There was a horrible rending
crash as the stout keel snapped asunder, while
a second wave swept over it, sweeping out the
struggling occupants, and bearing them onward.
</p>
<p>
Peggy knew naught of swimming, and so
made no attempt to strike out. She felt the
water surging into her ears like a torrent of
ice. She felt that she was sinking down,
down as if a great weight held her remorselessly.
This was death, she thought, and as
the pain in her lungs increased, visions passed
swiftly through her brain. Where was the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_340'></a>340</span>
mate, she wondered. A race with death, he
had said. And death was the victor after all.
Her mother’s face flashed before her. She
was dying and she would never know. And
Sally! And Betty! And Robert! What
times they had had! Would they grieve,
when they knew? But they would never
know.
</p>
<p>
There was no hope. She must be resigned,
came the thought, and so she ceased to
struggle just as a huge roller came surging
over the outlying reef. It caught her and
bore her onward on its crest. Peggy closed
her eyes.
</p>
<p>
“The pore child! She’s coming to at last,”
sounded a kindly voice, and Peggy opened
her eyes and gazed into the anxious orbs of an
elderly woman who was bending over her.
“There now, you pore dear! Don’t stir.
Just drink this, and go to sleep.”
</p>
<p>
A cup of something hot was held to her lips.
She drank it obediently and sank back too utterly
exhausted to even wonder where she was.
She was in a warm, dry bed. There was a
caress in the touch of the hands that ministered
to her which penetrated through the stupor
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_341'></a>341</span>
which was stealing over her, and with a sigh
of content, she turned over and slept.
</p>
<p>
The recollections of the next few days were
always thereafter dim to her mind. She
knew that an elderly woman, somewhat rough-looking,
was in the room frequently, but to
speak or to move her limbs was quite
impossible. But on the fourth day she was
better. The fifth she could speak, move, rise
in bed and turn, and when the woman brought
some gruel in the middle of the day Peggy ate
it with a relish. She felt strong and revived,
and a desire for action stirred her. She wished
to rise, and sat up suddenly.
</p>
<p>
“I believe if thee will help me I will get
up,” she said.
</p>
<p>
“Sakes alive, child! air you able?” cried
the woman in alarm.
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” said Peggy stoutly. “And I have
troubled thee greatly, I fear.”
</p>
<p>
“Why, you little storm-tossed bird,” exclaimed
the woman, “don’t you go for to call
it trouble. Me and Henry just feel as though
you was sent to us. Well, if you will get up,
here are your clothes.” She brought Peggy
her own things, clean and dry, and proceeded
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_342'></a>342</span>
to help her dress. “There, you do look better
now you are dressed. Let me help you to the
kitchen.”
</p>
<p>
She put her arm about the maiden, and
drew her gently across the room to the one
beyond which was kitchen and living-room
as well. It was a large room with a sanded
floor clean scoured, a high backed settle, a
deal table, a dresser with pewter plates
ranged in rows, reflecting the redness and
radiance of a glowing fire in a huge fireplace.
The woman bustled about hospitably.
</p>
<p>
“You must have something to eat,”
she declared. “You’ve had naught but
gruel for so long that you must be hungry.”
</p>
<p>
“I am,” replied Peggy, watching her in a
maze of content. Presently she sat up as a
thought came to her. “Friend,” she cried,
“how came I here?”
</p>
<p>
“Why, Henry brought you,” responded the
woman. “It was after the big storm. We
ain’t seen such a storm in years. Henry’s
my husband. He’s a fisherman, as mayhap
you’ve surmised. That is, he fishes for food,
but I reckon you might call him a wrecker
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_343'></a>343</span>
too,” she added with a smile. “Well, as I
was saying, he was down on the beach when
you was washed up by the waves. He thought
you was dead at first, but when you got up,
and tried to walk he just ran over to you as
you fell and brought you right up to the
house. Land! but we thought you was never
coming to! But you did, and now you’ll be
all right in a day or two.”
</p>
<p>
“How good thee has been,” said Peggy
gratefully. “Why, thou and thy husband
have saved my life. I was so cold in the
water and I—I was drowning. Then that
terrible wave threw me——” She paused
shuddering at the remembrance.
</p>
<p>
“Dear heart, don’t think about it,” exclaimed
the good dame hastening to her.
“Here, child, eat this piece of chicken. It
will hearten you up more than anything.
After a bit mayhap you can tell me about
yourself. But not a word until every bite of
chicken is gone.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy smiled at the good woman’s insistence,
but did not refuse the chicken. Her
appetite was awakened and keen, and she ate
the piece with such a relish that her hostess
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_344'></a>344</span>
was well pleased. “There now! you look
better already,” she declared. “Henry will
be glad to see it. He takes a heap of interest
in the folks he saves. I reckon he’s saved
more lives than any man on the coast of North
Carolina.”
</p>
<p>
“Is this North Carolina?” asked Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“Yes; and this is Fisherman’s Inlet, near
the Cape Fear River. What ship did you say
you was on?”
</p>
<p>
“’Twas the schooner ‘Falcon,’ from New
York,” Peggy told her. “It was one of the
vessels with Sir Henry Clinton, who set forth
to attack Charleston.”
</p>
<p>
The woman’s face darkened ominously.
“And you air a Tory, of course, being as you
air a Quaker and with a British ship?”
she said questioningly.
</p>
<p>
“I? Oh, no, no!” cried Peggy quickly.
“Why, my father is David Owen of the
Pennsylvania Light Horse. He is with the
Continental army. I am a patriot, but I
was captured and taken to New York City,
where I have been since the last day of February
of last year. It’s nearly a year,” she
ended, her lips quivering.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_345'></a>345</span>
</p>
<p>
“You don’t say!” ejaculated the woman.
“Then you must be a prisoner of war?”
</p>
<p>
“I know not that I would be truly a prisoner
of war,” answered Peggy, “for ’twas my
father’s cousin who captured me. I will tell
thee all about it.”
</p>
<p>
“You pore child,” exclaimed the woman,
who ceased her work as Peggy unfolded her
story, and listened with wide-eyed attention.
“What a lot you’ve been through! I’m glad
that you’re not one of them English.”
</p>
<p>
“And is thee a Whig?” asked Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“As I said, we air fisher folks, and don’t
mingle in politics. We don’t wish harm to
nobody, English or any other. Why, even
though we air wreckers we always pray for
the poor sailors in a storm, but we pray too
that if there air any wrecks they will be
washed up on Fisherman’s Inlet.”
</p>
<p>
A ripple of laughter rose to Peggy’s lips,
but she checked it instantly. “How can I
laugh,” she reproached herself, “when ’tis
but a few days since I was on the ship? And
the others have all perished, I doubt not.”
</p>
<p>
“Don’t think about it,” advised the dame.
“Laugh if you can. A light heart is the only
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_346'></a>346</span>
way to bear trouble. ’Tis a just punishment
that they should be drowned.”
</p>
<p>
“But if Harriet had not made me go first I
would not have been here,” said Peggy her
voice growing tender at the mention of her
cousin. All the old love and admiration for
Harriet had returned with that act.
</p>
<p>
“I wonder,” she added presently, “if
’twould be possible for me to get to Philadelphia
from here?”
</p>
<p>
“Philadelphia! I am afraid not, child.
You don’t know the way, and I doubt if
’twould be safe to try it. Get strong first, and
mayhap something will turn up that will
help you to get there.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” said Peggy. “I must get strong
first.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_347'></a>347</span><a name='chXXVIII' id='chXXVIII'></a>CHAPTER XXVIII—A TASTE OF PARTISAN WARFARE</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“It&#160;was&#160;too&#160;late&#160;to&#160;check&#160;the&#160;wasting&#160;brand,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>And&#160;Desolation&#160;reap’d&#160;the&#160;famish’d&#160;land;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>The&#160;torch&#160;was&#160;lighted,&#160;and&#160;the&#160;flame&#160;was&#160;spread,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>And&#160;Carnage&#160;smiled&#160;upon&#160;her&#160;daily&#160;dead.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—“Count&#160;Lara,”&#160;<i>Byron</i>.</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
While they were conversing the fisherman
himself entered. He was a man of middle
age, much bronzed by exposure to weather,
but with a kindly gleam in his keen gray
eyes. Peggy rose as he entered, and started
forward to meet him.
</p>
<p>
“Thy wife tells me that I owe thee my life,
sir,” she said, extending her hand. “I don’t
know how to tell thee how much I thank
thee.”
</p>
<p>
“Then don’t try,” he replied, taking her
little hand awkwardly. “Now don’t stand
up, my girl. You’re like a ghost. Ain’t she,
Mandy?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” responded his wife. “And what do
you think, Henry? She was on one of the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_348'></a>348</span>
ships that started from New York with Sir
Henry Clinton for Georgia. They intend
making another attempt to take Charleston.”
</p>
<p>
The fisherman’s brow contracted in a frown.
“So they air a-going to bring the war down
here?” he remarked thoughtfully. “That’s
bad news. Was there many ships?”
</p>
<p>
“Five of the line, and I don’t know how
many transports with men, ordnance and
horses,” answered Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“Mayhap they’re all foundered by that
storm,” exclaimed the dame. “’Twould be
a mercy if they was.”
</p>
<p>
“Mandy,” spoke her husband, in a warning
tone.
</p>
<p>
“She’s a Whig, Henry Egan, and her
father’s in the Continental army,” explained
the good woman. “And what’s more, she’s
a prisoner of war, too. Jest you tell him
about it.”
</p>
<p>
And Peggy told again all her little story.
When she spoke of the time spent in the
camp of the main army, the fisherman became
intensely interested.
</p>
<p>
“And so you know General Washington?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_349'></a>349</span>
he remarked smiling. “How does he look?
We all air mighty proud of him down here.
You see he comes from this part of the
country. Jest over here in Virginny. A next
door neighbor, you might call him.”
</p>
<p>
And Peggy told all she could about General
Washington, about such of his generals
as she had met, the movements of the army,
and everything connected with her stay in
New York. Nor was this the last telling.
</p>
<p>
North Carolina, while intensely patriotic
as a whole and responding liberally to the
country’s demand for troops and supplies,
had heretofore had but one slight incursion
from the British. For this reason they were
eager to hear from one who had been in the
midst of the main armies, and who seemed
to come as a direct messenger from that far-off
Congress whose efforts to sustain a central
government were becoming so woefully weak.
</p>
<p>
So Peggy found herself the centre of a little
circle, composed of true and tried Whigs
whose leaning toward the cause had more
than once brought them into conflict with
neighboring Tories.
</p>
<p>
The cottage was situated on a small inlet
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_350'></a>350</span>
of the ocean a few miles east of the Cape Fear
River. A little distance from the main shore
a low yellow ridge of sand hills stretched
like a serpent, extending nearly the full
length of the state on the ocean side, and
making the coast the dread of mariners.
These reefs were called “the banks.” The
cottage was an unpretentious structure, consisting
of but three rooms: the living-room
or kitchen, a little chamber for Peggy, and a
larger one occupied by the fisherman and his
wife. But the fisherman had grown rich
from wreckage. He had a number of beef
cattle, and herded “banker ponies” by the
hundred.
</p>
<p>
Peggy grew fond of him and of the wife,
and assisted in all the duties of the simple
household. And so the time went by, and
then there came to them rumors of the British
fleet which had at last landed its forces for
the besieging of Charleston.
</p>
<p>
Anxiously the result was awaited. North
Carolina rushed men to the city to help in its
defense, for if that fell it was but a question
of time until their own state would suffer invasion.
At last, Henry Egan betook himself
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_351'></a>351</span>
to Wilmington, thirty miles distant, for news.
On his return his brow was overcast with
melancholy.
</p>
<p>
“Charleston is taken,” he announced in
gloomy tones. “The whole of General Lincoln’s
army air prisoners. The British air
overrunning all South Carolina, plundering
and burning the house of every Whig, and
trying to force every man in the state to join
their army. The Tories in both states air
rising, and I tell you, wife, it won’t be long
until our time comes.”
</p>
<p>
“I am afraid so,” answered Mistress Egan,
turning pale. “Oh, Henry, I wish we was
up to mother’s at Charlotte. We would be
safe up there.”
</p>
<p>
“I don’t know, Mandy. It seems as though
there was no place safe from the British. It
might be best to go up there, but I’d never
reach there with the ponies. The people air
a-hoping that Congress will send us some help
from the main army. The state hasn’t anything
now but milish. ’Tis said in Wilmington
that Sir Henry returns soon to New York,
leaving Lord Cornwallis to complete the
subjugation of the South. He publicly boasts
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_352'></a>352</span>
that North Carolina will receive him with
open arms.”
</p>
<p>
“Belike the Tories will,” remarked the
good dame sarcastically. “I reckon he’ll find
a few that won’t be so overjoyed. Mayhap
too they’ll give him a welcome of powder and
ball.”
</p>
<p>
But the reports that came to them from
time to time of the atrocities committed by
the British in the sister state were far from
reassuring. Events followed each other in
rapid succession. Georgetown, Charleston,
Beaufort and Savannah were the British posts
on the sea; while Augusta, Ninety-six, and
Camden were those of the interior. From
these points parties went forth, gathering
about them profligate ruffians, and roamed
the state indulging in rapine, and ready to
put patriots to death as outlaws. The Tories
in both the Carolinas rose with their masters,
and followed their lead in plundering and arson.
</p>
<p>
“I do wish, Henry,” said his wife, “that
you would sell off all the beef cattle and
marsh ponies that you have. We’ll be getting
a visit along with the rest of the folks. I
reckon, if you don’t.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_353'></a>353</span>
</p>
<p>
“Everything is all right,” cried Henry who
had just returned from Wilmington. “Tidings
jest come that Congress has sent General
Gates to take command of the Southern army,
and they say he’s advancing as fast as he can.”
</p>
<p>
“Well, it wouldn’t do no hurt to get rid of
the critters anyway,” persisted his wife. “A
lot of harm can be done before Gates gets
here.”
</p>
<p>
“I tell you everything is all right now,”
said Henry exultingly. “Just let Horatio
Gates get a whack at Cornwallis, and he’ll
Burgoyne him jest as he did the army at
Saratoga.”
</p>
<p>
“I wish it was General Arnold who was
coming,” said Peggy. She had never felt
confidence in General Gates since John Drayton
had related his version of that battle.
The exposure of the “Conway Cabal” had
lessened her faith in him also, as it had that
of many people. “General Arnold was the
real hero of Saratoga. He and Daniel
Morgan; so I’ve heard.”
</p>
<p>
“Well, I ain’t saying nothing against Arnold,”
was the fisherman’s answer. “He’s a
brave man, dashing and brilliant; but if Congress
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_354'></a>354</span>
hadn’t thought that Gates was the man
for us they wouldn’t have sent him down.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy said no more. The climax came in
August when, utterly routed at Camden,
Gates fled alone from his army into Charlotte.
A few days later, Sumter, who now commanded
the largest force that remained in the
Carolinas, was surprised by Colonel Tarleton
as he bivouacked on the Wateree, and put to
rout by that officer. Elated by his success
Cornwallis prepared for his northward march,
and in furtherance of his plans inaugurated a
reign of terror.
</p>
<p>
One night in the latter part of August
Peggy could not sleep. It was very warm,
and she rose and went out on the little porch
where she stood trying to get a breath of air.
The sea moved with a low murmur, the surf
being very light.
</p>
<p>
“How warm it is,” she mused. “Even the
sea is quiet to-night. How different it is
down here from my own Philadelphia. Is
mother there now, I wonder? Or would she
be at Strawberry Hill? I wish——”
</p>
<p>
She bent her head abruptly in a listening
attitude. The tramp of a horse approaching
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_355'></a>355</span>
in a gallop was plainly heard. But a few moments
elapsed before a man, who in the starlight
she could see was armed, dashed up and
drew rein before the cottage calling loudly:
</p>
<p>
“Awake! Awake, Henry Egan! The
British and Tories are coming. Awake, man,
awake!”
</p>
<p>
“Friend,” called the girl excitedly, “who
is thee?”
</p>
<p>
“A friend. Jack Simpson,” he answered.
“Is Egan dead, that he does not answer? He
must awake.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy ran to the door of the bedchamber,
calling wildly:
</p>
<p>
“Friend Henry, Friend Mandy, awake,
awake!”
</p>
<p>
“Who calls?” cried Egan, sitting up suddenly.
</p>
<p>
“’Tis Peggy,” answered she quickly. “A
friend is here who says the Tories are coming.”
</p>
<p>
“The Lord have mercy on us,” ejaculated
Mistress Egan springing out of bed. “Henry,
Henry, get up! The British and Tories are
upon us.”
</p>
<p>
At last awake, the fisherman sprang from
his bed, and rushed to the door.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_356'></a>356</span>
</p>
<p>
“Get your wife and whatever you want to
save,” shouted the man outside. “The British
are out with Fanning’s Tories burning
every suspected house in the district. No
time to lose, Henry. They’re coming now.”
</p>
<p>
Egan hurried back into the house, and
caught up a portmanteau which he kept lying
by his bed at night. Mistress Egan and
Peggy were dressed by this time, and the three
hurried into the swamp which lay to the
north of the cottage. The man who had
given the warning passed on to perform the
same office for other menaced families.
</p>
<p>
Unused to swamps, the British seldom followed
the inhabitants into their recesses, and
this proved the safety of many a family in the
Carolinas. They were scarcely within the confines
of the marsh when they heard the tramp
of many hoofs, the neighing of horses, and
the enemy was at the cottage.
</p>
<p>
“By my hilt, the birds have flown,” shouted
an English voice, and the words were distinctly
heard through the stillness of the
night. “Search the house, boys. Egan must
have some rich pickings. Bring out whatever
there is of value, and then burn the hut.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_357'></a>357</span>
The horses and cattle must be hereabouts
somewhere.”
</p>
<p>
There followed hoarse cries and a rush for
the building. It seemed to Peggy that a
moment had hardly passed before a red glare
lit up the spot where the cottage stood.
</p>
<p>
“Back into the swamp,” whispered Egan in
a whisper. “They may see us here.”
</p>
<p>
Back into thicknesses of morass such as
Peggy had never seen before they went, speaking
only when necessary and then in the
lowest of tones. And thus the rest of the
night was spent, while the fiends ravaged the
herding pens, and beat up the bushes for the
ponies. The fugitives remained in hiding
until morning dawned. Then they made
their way back to the blackened ruins of the
cottage. Tears coursed down Peggy’s cheeks
at the sight.
</p>
<p>
“What shall thee do?” she cried putting
her arms about Mistress Egan. “Oh, what
shall thee do?”
</p>
<p>
For a moment the fisherman’s wife could
not speak. She shed no tears, but her face
was worn, and drawn, and haggard. She had
aged in the night.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_358'></a>358</span>
</p>
<p>
“Henry,” she cried, “there is but one thing
for us to do, and that is to get to mother’s.”
</p>
<p>
“And how shall we do that, Mandy? We
have neither horse nor wagon left us.”
</p>
<p>
“Henry Egan, I’m ashamed of you! Ain’t
we in North Carolina? When did her people
ever refuse to aid each other?”
</p>
<p>
“You’re right,” he acknowledged humbly.
“North Carolina is all right—but the Tories.
I don’t take no stock in that part of her population.”
</p>
<p>
“And neither do I,” she rejoined grimly.
“From this time on I am a Whig out and
aboveboard. They have done us all the harm
they can, I reckon. What you got in that
bag, Henry?”
</p>
<p>
Egan smiled.
</p>
<p>
“It’s gold, Mandy. I reckon they didn’t
find all the pickings.”
</p>
<p>
“For mercy sake, Henry Egan, we can’t
get through the country with that,” exclaimed
the good woman. “Bury it, or do something
with it.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” he said. “That will be the safest.
Wait for me while I do it.” He was with
them again in a short time. “We will go to
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_359'></a>359</span>
Hampton’s and get something to eat,” he said.
“I kept a little money, and maybe Mis’ Hampton
will let us have some horses.” He turned
as he spoke and his wife started after him, but
Peggy lingered.
</p>
<p>
“Come, child,” said Mistress Egan. “It’s
a right smart way over to Hampton’s. We
must get along.”
</p>
<p>
“But,” hesitated Peggy, “won’t I be a burden
now? I ought not to add to thy trouble.”
</p>
<p>
“Why, honey, you have nowhere to go.
What would you do? Now don’t worry about
trouble, but just come right along. We will
all keep together. What’s ourn is yours too.”
And gratefully Peggy went with them. It was
indeed a “right smart way” to Hampton’s,
which proved to be a large plantation lying
some ten miles from the cottage. It was a
cloudless day in August, and excessively
warm. When they at length reached the
place they were footsore and weary.
</p>
<p>
“Why, Mandy Egan,” exclaimed a motherly
looking woman, coming to the door of the
dwelling as she caught sight of them. “Whatever
has happened? Come right in. You all
look ready to drop.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_360'></a>360</span>
</p>
<p>
Mistress Egan, who had borne up wonderfully
all through the long night and the
wearing walk, now broke down at this kindly
greeting.
</p>
<p>
“The Tories, under some British, burnt us
out last night,” explained her husband.
“They sacked the house first, of course, and
ran off all the ponies and cattle. We have
come to you for help, Martha. Will you let
us have the horses to get up to Charlotte to
her mother’s?”
</p>
<p>
“Of course I will, Henry. All sorts of
reports are flying about. Will says that down
at Wilmington ’tis thought that nothing can
save the old north state. Cornwallis hath
already begun his march toward us.”
</p>
<p>
“Heaven save us if ’tis true,” ejaculated the
fisherman, sinking into a chair. “First
Lincoln and his whole army at Charleston;
then Gates and his forces at Camden! Two
armies in three months swept out of existence.
The cause is doomed.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, if they had only sent General Arnold,”
cried Peggy. “He is so brave, so daring, I
just know he could have saved us.”
</p>
<p>
Gravely, oppressed by vague fears for the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_361'></a>361</span>
future, they gathered about the table. American
freedom trembled in the balance. Disaster
had followed fast upon disaster. Georgia,
South Carolina restored to the British—North
Carolina’s turn to be subjugated was at hand.
</p>
<p>
It was with sad forebodings that the three
began their journey toward the north early
the next morning.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_362'></a>362</span><a name='chXXIX' id='chXXIX'></a>CHAPTER XXIX—PEGGY FINDS AN OLD FRIEND</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“One&#160;hope&#160;survives,&#160;the&#160;frontier&#160;is&#160;not&#160;far,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>And&#160;thence&#160;they&#160;may&#160;escape&#160;from&#160;native&#160;war,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>And&#160;bear&#160;within&#160;them&#160;to&#160;the&#160;neighboring&#160;state</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>An&#160;exile’s&#160;sorrows,&#160;or&#160;an&#160;outlaw’s&#160;hate:</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Hard&#160;is&#160;the&#160;task&#160;their&#160;fatherland&#160;to&#160;quit,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>But&#160;harder&#160;still&#160;to&#160;perish&#160;or&#160;submit.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>Byron.</i></p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
The travel northward was by slow stages,
on account of the intense heat of the lowlands.
The settlements along the Cape Fear River
were composed principally of Scotch Highlanders,
who were favorable to the side of the
king, and these the fisherman’s little party
avoided by leaving the road and making a
wide détour through the woods. But often in
the gloaming of the summer evenings the
weird notes of the bagpipes sounding old
Highland tunes would mingle with the mournful
calls of the whip-poor-wills, producing
such an effect of sadness that Peggy was oft-times
moved to tears.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_363'></a>363</span>
</p>
<p>
Still, these regions were not deserted. They
sometimes came across numerous groups of
women and children—desolated families,
victims of Tory ravages, who were fleeing like
hunted game through the woods to the more
friendly provinces northward. It was a great
relief when they finally reached the undulating
country of the uplands, and, after a week
of hard riding, the town of Charlotte, to the
left of which, on the road leading to Beattie’s
Ford on the Catawba River, lay the plantation
and mill of William and Sarah Sevier, parents
of Mistress Egan.
</p>
<p>
They were unpolished people in many ways,
but so kindly and hospitable that Peggy felt
at home at once. The community was famed
for its love of liberty, and was later denounced
by Cornwallis as “a hornet’s nest.” It was
here, five years previous to this time, that the
spirit of resistance to tyranny found expression
in the famous “Mecklenburg resolutions.”
In this congenial environment Peggy was as
near to happiness as it was possible for her to
be so far from her kindred. One thing that
added to her felicity was the fact that Charlotte
was directly on the route running
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_364'></a>364</span>
through Virginia and thence north to Philadelphia,
which before the Revolution had been
used as a stage line.
</p>
<p>
“If only I had Star,” she would cry wistfully,
“I would try to get home. If only I
had Star!”
</p>
<p>
One morning in the early autumn Mistress
Egan called Peggy, and said to her, in much
the same manner that her mother would have
used:
</p>
<p>
“I want you to put on your prettiest frock,
Peggy. Ma’s going to have a company here for
the day. The men are to help pa gather the
corn while the women take off a quilt. The
young folks will come to-night for the corn-husking,
but I reckon there won’t be a girl
that can hold a candle to my little Quakeress.
The boys will all want you to find the red
ear.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy laughed.
</p>
<p>
“Is that the reason there hath been so much
cooking going on, Friend Mandy? Methought
there was a deal of preparation just for the
family.”
</p>
<p>
“There’s a powerful sight to be done yet,”
observed Mistress Egan.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_365'></a>365</span>
</p>
<p>
“Then do let me help,” pleaded Peggy.
“Thee spoils me. Truly thee does. Why, at
home I helped mother in everything.”
</p>
<p>
The guests came early, as was the custom
when there was work to be done. The men
rode horseback with their wives behind them
on pillions, and with rifles held in the hollow
of their left arms; for it was the practice in
those trying times to bear arms even upon
visits of business or friendship. Soon a company
of two score or more had gathered at the
farmhouse. Greetings exchanged, the men
hastened to the cornfields to gather the new
corn, while the women clustered about the
quilting frames, and fingers plied the needles
busily, while tongues clacked a merry accompaniment.
</p>
<p>
The morning passed quickly, and at noon
the gay party had just seated themselves
around the table where a bountiful dinner
steamed, when they were startled by a shout
from the yard.
</p>
<p>
“Fly for your lives, men! The British are
coming to forage.”
</p>
<p>
Instantly the men sprang for their rifles and
accoutrements. Inured to danger and alarms,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_366'></a>366</span>
the women were as quick to act as their husbands.
Some of them ran to the stables and
led forth the horses, which they saddled hastily,
ready for service; while others gathered
up whatever objects of value they could carry.
With marvelous celerity the men placed the
women and servants on the horses by twos
and threes, bidding them to betake themselves
to neighbors who were more remote from the
main road. They themselves had scarcely
time for concealment in a deep thicket and
swamp which bordered one extremity of the
farm before the British videttes were in sight.
These halted upon the brow of a hill for the
approach of the main body, and then in complete
order advanced to the plantation.
</p>
<p>
After reconnoitering the premises, and finding
no one present, but all appearances of the
hasty flight of the occupants, the dragoons
dismounted, tethered their horses and detailed
a guard. Some sumpter-horses were harnessed
to farm wagons, and some of the troopers began
to load them with various products of the
fields; while military baggage wagons under
charge of a rear guard gradually arrived, and
were employed in the gathering of the new
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_367'></a>367</span>
corn, carrying off stacks of oats and the freshly
pulled corn fodder.
</p>
<p>
Enjoying the prospect of free living the soldiers
shouted joyously among their plunder.
Separate parties, regularly detailed, shot down
and butchered the hogs and calves, while others
hunted and caught the poultry of different
descriptions. In full view of this scene stood
the commander of the British forces, a portly,
florid Englishman, one hand on each side the
doorway of the farmhouse, where the officers
were partaking of the abundant provisions
provided for the guests of Mistress
Sevier.
</p>
<p>
Meanwhile Peggy, who had been mounted
behind Grandma Sevier, for so she had learned
to call Mistress Egan’s mother, discovered that
lady in tears.
</p>
<p>
“Grandma,” she cried with concern, “what
is it? Is thee frightened?”
</p>
<p>
“It’s my Bible,” wailed the old lady. “The
Scottish translation of the Psalms is bound in
with it, and they say the British burn every
Bible they find like that. Oh, I’ll never have
another! My mother gave it to me when
William and me was married. The births and
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_368'></a>368</span>
deaths of my children are in it—oh, I’d rather
everything on the place was took than that.”
</p>
<p>
“Stop just a minute, please,” spoke Peggy.
Then, as the surprised woman brought the
horse to a standstill, the maiden slipped to
the ground. “I’m going back for the Bible,”
she cried, and darted away before any of them
guessed her intention.
</p>
<p>
“Peggy, Peggy,” called several voices after
her, but the girl laughed at them and disappeared
among the bushes.
</p>
<p>
“The British won’t hurt me,” she reassured
herself as she came in sight of the dwelling.
“I am just a girl, and can do them no harm.
I’m just going to have that Bible for grandma.
’Tis a small thing to do for her when she hath
been so good to me.”
</p>
<p>
And so saying, she stepped out from the
bushes where she had paused for a moment,
and marched boldly up to the commander in
the doorway.
</p>
<p>
“Sir,” she said, sweeping him a fine curtsey,
“I wish thee good-day.”
</p>
<p>
“Well, upon my life, what have we here?”
exclaimed he, astounded at this sudden apparition.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_369'></a>369</span>
</p>
<p>
“If thee pleases, good sir, I live here,” returned
Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“And I do please,” he cried. “Come in,
mistress. Your pardon, but we have made
somewhat free with the premises, but if it so
be that you are a loyal subject of King George,
you shall have ample recompense for whatever
we take.”
</p>
<p>
“I thank thee,” she said, ignoring the question
of loyalty. “I will enter, if I may.
Grandma wishes her Bible, and that, sir, can
surely be given her?”
</p>
<p>
“Of a truth,” he cried, stepping aside for
her to pass. “’Tis a small request to refuse
such beauty. Take the Bible and welcome,
my fair Quakeress.”
</p>
<p>
“I thank thee,” spoke the girl, with quaint
dignity. Sedately she passed into the dwelling
and went directly to Mistress Sevier’s
chamber, where the Bible lay on a small
table. Clasping it close, Peggy again went
through the living-room, where the astonished
officers awaited her coming curiously.
</p>
<p>
“You are not going to be so unmannerly
as to leave us, are you?” asked the captain.
</p>
<p>
“Sir,” spoke the girl, facing him bravely,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_370'></a>370</span>
“I pray thee, permit me to pass unmolested.
We have left thee and thy soldiers at liberty
to possess yourselves of our belongings. Show
at least this courtesy.”
</p>
<p>
“Methinks,” he began, tugging at his moustache
thoughtfully, “that such leniency deserves
something at your hands. I doubt not
’tis a Presbyterian Bible, and we have orders
to destroy all such. Methinks——”
</p>
<p>
But Peggy was out and past him before he
had finished speaking. There was a shorter
way into the swamp if she would go through
the orchard where the horses were tethered,
and she sped across the lawn in that direction.
As she darted among the animals the
book slipped from her clasp and she stooped
to recover it. As she rose from her stooping
position she felt the soft nose of a horse touch
her cheek gently, and a low whinny broke
upon her ear. The girl gave one upward
glance, and then sprang forward, screaming:
</p>
<p>
“Star!” In an ecstasy of joy she threw
her arms about the little mare’s neck, for it
was in reality her own pony. “Oh, Star!
Star! have I found thee again?”
</p>
<p>
Caress after caress she lavished on the pony,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_371'></a>371</span>
which whinnied its delight and seemed as
glad of the meeting as the girl herself. A
number of soldiers, drawn by curiosity,
meanwhile gathered about the maiden
and the horse, and among them was the
commanding officer. Peggy had forgotten
everything but the fact that she had found
Star again, and paid no heed to their
presence.
</p>
<p>
“It seems to be a reunion,” remarked the
officer at length dryly. “May I ask, my
little Quakeress, what claim you have on that
animal?”
</p>
<p>
Peggy lifted her tear-stained face.
</p>
<p>
“Why, it’s my pony that my dear father
gave me,” she answered. “It’s Star!”
</p>
<p>
“That cannot be,” he told her. “I happen
to know that this especial horse came down
from New York City on one of the transports
with Sir Henry Clinton. So you see that it
cannot be yours.”
</p>
<p>
“But it is, sir,” cried she. “I came down at
the same time with my cousin Colonel Owen
and his daughter Harriet on the ‘Falcon.’
Our horses, Harriet’s and mine, were put on
one of the transports.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_372'></a>372</span>
</p>
<p>
“Then why are you not in Charleston
with the others?” he demanded.
</p>
<p>
“Why, they were lost at sea,” she replied,
turning upon him a startled look. “We
took to the boats, but ours was caught by the
current and swept away from the schooner.
It must have gone down afterward.”
</p>
<p>
“I see,” he said. “Then if all this is
true, and you came down with Sir Henry
and his company, you must be a loyalist?
In that case, of course, you may have the
horse.”
</p>
<p>
“It is indeed truth that I came here in that
manner,” reiterated Peggy. “And the horse
is truly mine.”
</p>
<p>
“But are you loyal?” he persisted. “If
you will say so you may take the beast, and
aught else you wish on the premises.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy leaned her head against Star’s
silky mane and was silent. It would be so
easy to say. She could not part with Star
now that she had found her. Would it be so
very wrong? Just a tiny fib! The girl gave
a little sob as the temptation assailed her and
tightened her clasp of the pony convulsively.
It was but a moment and then, stricken with
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_373'></a>373</span>
horror at the thought which had come to her,
Peggy raised her head.
</p>
<p>
“Sir,” she said, “I am not loyal to the
king. I am a strong patriot. In sooth,”
speaking more warmly than she would have
done had it not been for that same temptation,
“in sooth, I don’t believe there is a
worse rebel to His Majesty anywhere in these
parts; but for all that thee shan’t have Star.
Thee shall kill me first.”
</p>
<p>
And so saying she picked up the Bible from
the ground where it had fallen, and sprang
lightly into the saddle.
</p>
<p>
The captain had smiled in spite of himself
as she flung him her defiance. Peggy aroused
was Peggy adorable. With eyes flashing, color
mantling cheek and brow, the crushed creamy
blossom nestling caressingly in her dark hair,
the maiden made a picture that would bring
a smile from either friend or foe. But as she
sprang to the saddle the officer seized the rein
which she had unknotted from the tree, exclaiming:
</p>
<p>
“You have spirit, it seems, despite your
Quaker speech. The horse is yours for
one——”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_374'></a>374</span>
</p>
<p>
At this instant there came a shout from the
soldiers who had resumed the chase of the
poultry during the colloquy between their
officer and the maiden. Some of their number
had struck down some beehives formed
of hollow gum logs ranged near the garden
fence. The irritated insects dashed after the
men, and at once the scene became one of uproar,
confusion and lively excitement.
</p>
<p>
The officer loosed his clasp on the bridle,
and turned to see the cause of the clamor.
The attention of the guard was relaxed for
the moment, and taking advantage of the
diversion Peggy struck her pony quickly.
The mare bounded forward; the captain
uttered an exclamation and sprang after her
just as the sharp crack of a dozen rifles
sounded.
</p>
<p>
When the smoke lifted the captain and
nine men lay stretched upon the ground, and
Peggy was flying toward cover as fast as Star
could carry her. Immediately the trumpets
sounded a recall, but by the time the scattered
dragoons had collected, mounted and formed,
a straggling fire from a different direction into
which the concealed farmers had extended
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_375'></a>375</span>
showed the unerring aim of each American
marksman, and increased the confusion of the
surprise.
</p>
<p>
Perfectly acquainted with every foot of the
ground, the farmer and his friends constantly
changed their position, giving in their fire as
they loaded so that it appeared to the British
that they were surrounded by a large force.
The alternate hilly and swampy grounds and
thickets, with woods on both sides the road,
did not allow efficient action to the horses of
the dragoons, and after a number of the
troopers had been shot down they turned
and fled. The leading horses in the wagons
were killed before they could ascend the hill
and the road became blocked up. The soldiers
in charge, frantic at the idea of being left behind,
cut loose some of the surviving animals,
and galloped after their retreating
comrades.
</p>
<p>
“They didn’t find it so easy to get pickings
up here as they did down at my house,”
chuckled Henry Egan as the hidden farmers
came forth after the skirmish, without the loss
of a man. “I reckon, pa, you’d better get the
women back here. Some of these men need
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_376'></a>376</span>
attention. I wonder where Peggy went? The
daring little witch! I was scared clean out
of my senses when she sassed that captain.
Find where she is, pa.”
</p>
<p>
It was not long before the women were
back, and with them came Peggy, tearful but
joyous, leading Star by the bridle.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_377'></a>377</span><a name='chXXX' id='chXXX'></a>CHAPTER XXX—AN INTERRUPTED JOURNEY</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>“I&#160;still&#160;had&#160;hoped&#160;...</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Around&#160;my&#160;fire&#160;an&#160;evening&#160;group&#160;to&#160;draw,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>And&#160;tell&#160;of&#160;all&#160;I&#160;heard,&#160;of&#160;all&#160;I&#160;saw.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>Goldsmith.</i></p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
A few days later the country was electrified
by the news that the Whigs west of the Alleghanies
had marched to the relief of their oppressed
brethren of the Carolinas, and defeated
the British at King’s Mountain. The victory
fired the patriots with new zeal, checked the
rising of the loyalists in North Carolina, and
was fatal to the intended expedition of Cornwallis.
He had hoped to step with ease from
one Carolina to the other, and then proceed to
the conquest of Virginia; he was left with no
choice but to retreat.
</p>
<p>
The men about Charlotte had disputed his
advance; they now harassed his foraging
parties, intercepted his despatches and cut off
his communications. Declaring that every
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_378'></a>378</span>
bush hid a rebel, Lord Cornwallis fell back
across the Catawba into South Carolina.
</p>
<p>
At the plantation the news of the victory
was received with joy, causing Peggy to unfold
the plan that had been maturing ever
since she had regained possession of Star.
</p>
<p>
“What doth hinder my going home now?”
she asked the assembled family one evening.
“The British have gone, and I have but to
keep to the road to arrive in time at Philadelphia.”
</p>
<p>
“But the Tories?” questioned Mistress
Egan. “They are everywhere.”
</p>
<p>
“I have waited so long for a way to open,”
continued Peggy, stoutly. “It is wonderful
how it hath all come about. First, the sea
brought me to thy door, Friend Mandy. Then
we came up here where the road is the selfsame
one used by the delegates to go to the
Congress. Then my own pony is brought to
this very house. Does thee not see that ’tis
the way opened at last?”
</p>
<p>
“I see that we must let you go,” said the
good woman sadly, “though I shall never
know a minute’s peace until I hear of you
being safe with your mother.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_379'></a>379</span>
</p>
<p>
“I will write as soon as I reach her,” promised
the girl. “And I shall get through,
never fear. Did thee not say to thy husband
when the cottage was burned that the people
would help? Well, they will help me too.”
</p>
<p>
“You cannot go alone, my girl,” interposed
Henry Egan decidedly. “’Twould never do
in the world. Things air upset still, even
though the British air gone. If I hadn’t
joined the milish I’d take you home myself.
As things air there can’t a man be spared from
the state jest now. North Carolina needs
every man she can get.”
</p>
<p>
“I know it, Friend Henry,” answered
Peggy. “And I would not wish any one to
leave his duty for me. The cause of liberty
must come before everything.”
</p>
<p>
“That is true,” he said. “Be content to
bide a little longer, and mayhap a way will be
opened, as you say.”
</p>
<p>
So, yielding to his judgment with the sweet
deference that was her greatest charm, Peggy
bore her disappointment as best she could. It
was but a few days, however, until the matter
was brought up again by the fisherman.
</p>
<p>
“Peggy,” he said, “I heard as how Joe
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_380'></a>380</span>
Hart was going to take his wife and baby to
her folks in Virginny, so that he can join the
Continentals with Gates. If you’re bound to
go this might be your chance. Things don’t
seem to be so bad over there as they air in
this state, and it may be easier for you to get
some one to take you on to Philadelphia.”
</p>
<p>
“When do they start?” asked Peggy joyfully.
</p>
<p>
“To-morrow morning. That won’t give you
much time, but——”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis all I need,” she answered excitedly.
“Oh, Friend Henry, how good thee is to find
a chance for me.”
</p>
<p>
“There, my girl! say no more. Of course
you want them even as they must want you.
You’ll write sometimes, and when this awful
war is over, if there air any of us left, mayhap
you’ll come down to see us again.”
</p>
<p>
“I will,” she promised in tears.
</p>
<p>
“Another thing,” he said, bringing forth a
few gold pieces, “you must take these with
you. They will help you in your journey,
but use ’em only when you can’t get what you
want any other way. ’Tis better to trust to
kindness of heart than to cupidity.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_381'></a>381</span>
</p>
<p>
In spite of her protests he made her accept
them, and she sewed them in the hem of her
frock, promising to use them with discretion.
With many tears Peggy took leave of these
kindly people the next morning, and set forth
with Joe Hart and his wife and baby for Virginia.
The road was mountainous, and the
riding hard, but Peggy’s heart danced with
gladness and she heeded not the fatigue, for
at last she was going home. Home! The
opaline splendor of the morning thrilled
her with an appreciation that she had
never felt before. What a wonderful light
threaded the woods and glorified the treetops!
Home!
</p>
<p>
At night they stopped at some woodman’s
hut, or at a plantation, if they were near the
more pretentious establishment; for inns were
few, and the habitations so far removed from
each other that the people gladly gave entertainment
to travelers in return for the news
they brought.
</p>
<p>
Often they encountered bodies of irregular
troops upon the road directing their wearied
march toward the headquarters of the patriot
army. The victory at King’s Mountain had
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_382'></a>382</span>
thrilled the people even as Concord and Lexington
had done, and roused them to renewed
exertions.
</p>
<p>
Peggy’s companions were not very cheerful.
The man was a rough, kindly, goodhearted
fellow, but his wife was a delicate
woman, peevish and complaining, whose
strength was scarcely equal to the hardships
of the journey and the care of the sickly infant
who fretted incessantly.
</p>
<p>
Four days of such companionship wore
upon even Peggy’s joyousness. They were
by this time some fifteen miles east of Hillsborough,
where the remnant of the patriot
army lay. The road was lonely, the quiet
broken only by the whimpering of the baby
and the querulous soothing of the mother.
Peggy felt depressed and mentally reproached
herself for it.
</p>
<p>
“Thee is foolish, Peggy,” she chided sternly,
“to heed such things. If the poor woman
can bear it thee should not let it wherrit thee.
Now be brave, Peggy Owen! just think how
soon thee will see mother. Can thee not bear
a little discomfort for that? And how exciting
’twill be to tell them——What was that?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_383'></a>383</span>
she cried aloud, turning a startled look upon
the mountaineer, who rode a short distance
ahead of Peggy and his wife.
</p>
<p>
“It sounded like a groan,” exclaimed he.
</p>
<p>
They drew rein and listened. The road
ran through a forest so densely studded with
undergrowth that it was impossible to see any
distance on either side. For a few seconds
there was no sound but the whispering of the
pines. They were about to pass on when
there came a low cry:
</p>
<p>
“You, whoever you are! Come to me, for
the love of God!”
</p>
<p>
For a moment they looked at each other
with startled faces, and then the mountaineer
made a motion to swing himself from his
horse.
</p>
<p>
“Joe,” cried his wife, “what air you going
to do? Don’t go! How’d you know but
what it’s an ambush?”
</p>
<p>
“Nay; some one is hurt,” protested Peggy.
</p>
<p>
While Hart still hesitated, Peggy dismounted,
and leading Star by the bridle
walked in the direction from which the cry
came.
</p>
<p>
“Where is thee, friend?” she called, her
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_384'></a>384</span>
voice sounding clearly through the stillness of
the forest.
</p>
<p>
“Here! Here!” came the feeble reply.
</p>
<p>
Dropping the pony’s bridle Peggy pushed
aside the undergrowth, and advanced fearlessly,
pausing ever and anon to call for guidance.
Shamed by this display of courage Joe
Hart followed her, despite the protests of his
wife. Presently just ahead of them appeared a
man’s form lying outstretched under a clump
of bushes, and wearing the uniform of the Continentals.
One arm, the right one, was broken,
and lay disabled upon the grass, while the hand
of the other lifted itself occasionally to stroke
the legs of a powerful horse which stood
guard over the prostrate form of his master.
</p>
<p>
The animal snapped at them viciously as
they approached, but the soldier spoke to him
sharply, so that they could draw near in
safety. The girl bent over the wounded man
pityingly, for a gaping hole in his side through
which the blood was flowing told that he had
not long to live.
</p>
<p>
“What can I do for thee, friend?” she
asked gently, sinking down beside him and
raising his head to her lap.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_385'></a>385</span>
</p>
<p>
“Are you Whig or Tory?” he gasped, gazing up at her eagerly.
</p>
<p>
“A patriot, friend,” she answered wiping
the moisture from his brow with tender
hands.
</p>
<p>
“Thank God,” he cried making a great
effort to talk for the end was fast approaching.
“I bear letters to General Gates from the Congress.
In my shoe; will you see that they
are taken to him?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” she replied.
</p>
<p>
“Promise me,” he insisted. “You look
true. Promise that you yourself will take
them to him.”
</p>
<p>
“I promise,” she said solemnly. “And now,
friend, thyself. Hast thou no messages for thy
dear ones?”
</p>
<p>
“Mary,” he whispered a spasm of pain contracting
his face. “My wife! Tell her that
I died doing my duty. She must not grieve.
’Tis for the country. Water!” he gasped.
</p>
<p>
But Joe Hart, foreseeing the need for this,
had already gone in search of it, and opportunely
returned at this moment with his drinking-horn
full. The vidette drank eagerly,
and revived a little.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_386'></a>386</span>
</p>
<p>
“Thy name?” asked Peggy softly, for she
saw that his time was short.
</p>
<p>
“William Trumbull, of Fairfield, Connecticut,”
he responded. The words came slowly
with great effort. “’Twas Tories,” he said,
“that shot me, but Duke outran them. Then
I fell and crawled in here. My horse——”
A smile of pride and affection lighted up his
face as he turned toward the animal. “We’ve
taken our last ride, old fellow!”
</p>
<p>
“Would thee like for me to speak to the
general about thy horse?” asked Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“If you would,” he cried eagerly. And
then after a moment—“Take off my boots.”
</p>
<p>
The mountaineer complied with the request,
and the dying patriot gave the papers which
Hart took from them to Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“Guard these with your life,” he continued.
“And get to General Gates without
delay. They have news of Arnold’s
treason——”
</p>
<p>
“Of what, did thee say?” cried Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“Of the treason of Benedict Arnold,” he
said feebly. “He is a traitor.”
</p>
<p>
“Not General Arnold!” exclaimed Peggy
in anguish. “Not the Arnold that was at
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_387'></a>387</span>
Philadelphia! Oh, friend! thee can’t mean
that Arnold?”
</p>
<p>
“The very same,” he responded. “And
further, he is seeking to induce the soldiers to
desert their country’s colors.”
</p>
<p>
“Merciful heavens! it can’t be true!” she
cried. “Friend, friend, thee must be wandering.
It couldn’t happen.”
</p>
<p>
“But it hath,” he gasped. “They told me
to make speed. I—I must go!”
</p>
<p>
With a superhuman effort he struggled to
his feet, stood for a brief second, and fell back—dead.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_388'></a>388</span><a name='chXXXI' id='chXXXI'></a>CHAPTER XXXI—HOW THE NEWS WAS RECEIVED AT CAMP</h2>
<table class='center' summary=""><tr><td>
<p>“Just for a handful of silver he left us,<br />
&#160;&#160;Just for a riband to stick in his coat—</p>

<p style='text-align: center'>*&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;*&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;*&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;*&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;*</p>

<p>Blot out his name, then, record one lost soul more,<br />
&#160;&#160;One task more declined, one more foot-path untrod,<br />
One more devil’s-triumph and sorrow for angels,<br />
&#160;&#160;One more wrong to man, one more insult to God.”</p>

<p style='text-align: right'>—“The Lost Leader,” <i>Browning</i>.</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
White and shaken Peggy leaned weakly
against a tree, and covered her face with her
hands.
</p>
<p>
“We must be getting on, miss,” spoke the
mountaineer, after a few moments of silence.
</p>
<p>
“And leave him like that?” cried the girl
aghast.
</p>
<p>
“There is naught else to be done,” he replied
gravely. “We have nothing to bury
him with.”
</p>
<p>
“But ’tis wrong,” remonstrated she, kneeling
beside the dead vidette, and touching his
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_389'></a>389</span>
brow reverently. “He died for his country,
friend.”
</p>
<p>
“Tell them at the camp,” suggested he.
“Mayhap they will send out and get him.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes; that is what we must do,” she said.
“I could not bear to think of him lying here
without Christian burial.”
</p>
<p>
“And what is it now, miss?” questioned
Hart, as she still lingered.
</p>
<p>
“Could we cut a lock from his hair, friend?
For his wife! I know that mother and I
would wish if father—if father——” Peggy
faltered and choked.
</p>
<p>
Silently Hart drew out his hunting-knife
and severed a lock of hair from the vidette’s
head, which the maiden placed with the despatches
in the bosom of her gown. Then
taking the kerchief from about her throat
she spread it over his face, and followed the
mountaineer back to the road. As they left
the spot the horse resumed his former position,
and a last glance from Peggy showed
the faithful creature standing guard over the
dead form of his master.
</p>
<p>
“Whatever made you so long, Joe?” cried
his wife petulantly. “The baby’s that fretful
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_390'></a>390</span>
that I don’t know what to do with her. She’s
jest wore out, and we must get where something
can be done for her.”
</p>
<p>
“Tilly,” he answered gravely, “there was
a pore soger in there who died. He wanted
us to take his despatches to Gates. I reckon
we’ll have to go back to Hillsboro’town.”
</p>
<p>
“Back fifteen miles, with the baby sick,”
exclaimed the woman in dismay. “Joe Hart,
you must be crazy. We shan’t do no such
thing. It will lose us a whole day, and we
ain’t got any too much time as ’tis. Your
own flesh and blood comes before anything
else, I reckon. Jest see how the child looks.”
</p>
<p>
The baby did look ill. The father regarded
it anxiously, and then glanced about him with
an uncertain manner.
</p>
<p>
“The general ought to have them despatches,”
he said, “but the child is sick, sure
enuff. Mayhap we can find somebody to take
the letters back at the next cabin.”
</p>
<p>
“Nay,” objected Peggy. “I promised the
soldier that I would see that the papers were
given into the general’s own hands; therefore
I will ride back with them. We cannot
trust to uncertainties.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_391'></a>391</span>
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” spoke the wife eagerly. “That is
just the thing, Joe. The girl can take them.
It’s daylight, and nothing won’t hurt her.
We’d best push on to where the baby can be
’tended to. She can catch up with us to-morrow!”
</p>
<p>
“Very well,” replied Peggy quietly. “And,
friend, where shall I tell the general to
come for the body? Does thee know the
place?”
</p>
<p>
The mountaineer glanced about him. “Jest
tell him about two mile above the cross-tree
crossing,” he said. “On the north side the
road. Anybody that knows the country will
know where ’tis. I don’t like——” But
Peggy bade them good-bye and was gone before
he could voice any further regrets.
</p>
<p>
“’Twas useless to parley over the matter,”
she thought as a turn in the road hid them
from view. “In truth the little one did look
ill. I would as soon be alone, and I can return
the faster. This awful thing about General
Arnold! How could it have happened?
Why, oh, why did he do it?”
</p>
<p>
Her thoughts flew back to the night of the
tea at General Arnold’s headquarters. How
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_392'></a>392</span>
kind he had seemed then. The dark handsome
face came before her as she remembered
how he had walked down the room by her
side, and how proud she had felt of his attention.
And how good he had been to John
Drayton! Drayton! Peggy started as the
thought of the lad came to her. How had
he taken it? The boy had loved him so.
</p>
<p>
It is never pleasant to be the bearer of ill
tidings, and Peggy found herself lagging more
than once in her journey. The afternoon
was drawing to a close when she came in sight
of the town on the Eno near which the army
was encamped. They had passed around it
in the morning. Mrs. Hart had feared that
her husband might be tempted into staying
with the army, and so had insisted upon the
détour.
</p>
<p>
The little town, nestled among beautiful
eminences, seemed deserted as the maiden
rode down the long unpaved street to the
upland beyond, where the camp lay. In
reality the inhabitants were at supper, and
sundry fragrant odors were wafted from the
various dwellings to the passing girl. Peggy,
however, was too heavy of heart for an appeal to the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_393'></a>393</span>
senses, though she had not tasted
food since the morning meal.
</p>
<p>
Passing at length through a defile the encampment
came to view. It was surrounded
with woods, and guarded in its rear by the
smooth and gentle river. A farmhouse in
the immediate neighborhood served as headquarters
for the officers.
</p>
<p>
Numerous horses were tethered in rows
about the upland plain. There were no tents
or huts, but rude accommodations for the
men had been made by branches and underwood
set against ridge-poles that were sustained
by stakes, and topped by sheaves of
Indian corn.
</p>
<p>
Groups of men were scattered over the
plain, some wagons were to be seen in one
direction, and not far off, a line of fires
around which parties were engaged cooking
food. Here and there a sentinel was pacing
his short limits, and occasionally the roll of
the drum, or the flourish of a fife told of some
ceremony of the camp.
</p>
<p>
Peggy had but time to observe these details
when she was stopped by the picket who demanded
the countersign.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_394'></a>394</span>
</p>
<p>
“I know it not, friend,” was her response.
“Lead me at once to thy general, I beg thee;
for I bear despatches for him.”
</p>
<p>
At this moment the officer in charge of the
relief guard, for the beautiful and inspiring
music of the sunset retreat was just sounding,
came up.
</p>
<p>
“What is it, Johnson?” he asked. Peggy
gave a little cry at the sound of his voice.
</p>
<p>
“John!” she cried. “John Drayton!”
</p>
<p>
“Peggy,” he gasped. “In the name of all
that’s wonderful, what are you doing here?”
</p>
<p>
“I might ask thee the same thing,” she returned.
“I was thinking of thee but now,
John.”
</p>
<p>
“Were you?” he cried gladly. “I am a
lieutenant now, Peggy.” He squared his
shoulders with the jaunty air which the girl
remembered so well, and which had always
caused Harriet so much amusement. “What
think you of that?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, I am glad, glad,” she returned.
</p>
<p>
“There is so much to tell you,” continued
he. “Just wait until I place this other sentinel,
and then we can have a nice long talk.”
</p>
<p>
“I can’t, John,” exclaimed she, remembering her mission.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_395'></a>395</span>
“I bear despatches for the
general.”
</p>
<p>
“You with despatches,” he ejaculated
laughing. “Have you ’listed, Peggy?”
</p>
<p>
“Nay,” returned she gravely, his lightness
of heart striking her like a blow. How could
she tell him? “John, let me give the letters
first.”
</p>
<p>
“Come,” said he. “I will take you there
at once. I am curious as to why you are the
bearer of such missives.”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis ill tidings,” spoke Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“Another disaster, eh?” He laid his arm
over the pony’s glossy neck and walked thus
over toward the farmhouse. “Well, we are
used to them. A victory would upset us more
than anything just at present. The day we
heard of King’s Mountain I thought the men
would go wild. We didn’t try to maintain
discipline on that day. Oh, well; if we are
whipped, we just fight ’em again. We’ll win
out in time.”
</p>
<p>
The color fled from Peggy’s face. He did
not know, and it was she who must tell him.
How would he bear it? They had reached
the farmhouse by the time, and Drayton
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_396'></a>396</span>
assisted Peggy from the horse, and turned to
an orderly.
</p>
<p>
“Will you say to the general that Ensign—I
mean Lieutenant Drayton is without with a
young lady who bears despatches? ’Tis
important. I have hardly got used to my
new dignity yet,” he explained turning to
Peggy with a boyish laugh. “It’s good to see
you, Peggy.”
</p>
<p>
“John,” said the girl, laying her hand on
his arm and speaking with intense earnestness.
“Will thee try to be brave? The news I
bring——”
</p>
<p>
“What mean you?” he asked in surprise.
“Why should a disaster effect me more than
any one else? Peggy, I never knew you to
act and to speak so strangely before. What
is it?”
</p>
<p>
“The general waits, lieutenant,” interrupted
the orderly. “He has but a few
moments, as he is going to Hillsboro’ for the
night.”
</p>
<p>
“Come, Peggy,” said Drayton. “I will
take you in.” They passed into the dwelling,
and Drayton opened a door on the right
of the hall which led to General Gates’ office.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_397'></a>397</span>
There were several men in the room, among
them Colonel Daniel Morgan who had but
recently arrived, and Colonel William Washington.
</p>
<p>
“General Gates,” said Drayton saluting,
“allow me to present Mistress Peggy Owen,
who is the bearer of despatches. She is the
daughter of David Owen, of the Pennsylvania
Light Horse.”
</p>
<p>
“You are welcome, Mistress Owen,” said
General Gates rising courteously. “Stay,
lieutenant,” as the lad made a movement to
depart. “If the young lady is friend of yours
you may be her escort back to Hillsboro’ when
the mission is ended.”
</p>
<p>
“Thank you, sir,” said Drayton, saluting
again.
</p>
<p>
“Sir,” said Peggy with a certain wistfulness
in her voice caused by the knowledge of the
news she bore, “before thee takes the letters I
should like to tell thee how I came by them.”
</p>
<p>
“Certainly you may,” he said regarding
her with a new deference, for the girl’s manner
and accents bespoke her gentle breeding.
</p>
<div><a name='fig409' id='fig409'></a></div>
<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<a name='i008' id='i008'></a>
<img src="images/illus409.jpg" alt="“YOU ARE WELCOME,” SAID GENERAL GATES" title=""/><br />
<span class='caption'>“YOU ARE WELCOME,” SAID GENERAL GATES</span>
</div>
<p>
And standing there Peggy told simply the
story of how she had become possessed of the
despatches. A stillness came upon them as
she related the death of the vidette, her tones
vibrating with tenderness and feeling.
</p>
<p>
“He died for his country,” she said, “and,
sir, he wished that told to his wife. She was
not to grieve; for ’twas for his country. And
his horse, General Gates. I promised that I
would speak to thee concerning him. We left
him guarding the body. Thee will see that
he is cared for, will thee not?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” he said, much moved. “So noble
an animal should be looked well to. Did you
learn the man’s name, mistress?”
</p>
<p>
“’Twas Trumbull, sir. William Trumbull,
of Fairfield, Connecticut.”
</p>
<p>
“I will inform his wife myself,” said he,
making a note of the matter. “He died a
hero performing his duty. And now may I
have the despatches?”
</p>
<p>
He extended his hand with a smile, saying
as he did so: “A man would have given them
first, and the story afterward; but this little
maid feared we would forget the vidette if she
delayed until afterward.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” acknowledged the girl, looking at
him earnestly, for she had feared that very
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_398'></a>398</span>
thing. “Sir,” giving him the despatches, “I
pray thee to pardon me for being the bearer of
such awful tidings.”
</p>
<p>
There was a slight smile on General Gates’
face at her manner of speaking, but it died
quickly as he ran his eye down the written
page. He uttered an exclamation as he mastered
the contents, and then stood staring at
the paper. At length, however, he turned to
the men at the table, and said in a hollow
voice:
</p>
<p>
“Gentlemen, it becomes my painful duty to
inform you that Major-General Arnold is a
traitor to his country.”
</p>
<p>
An awful pause followed the announcement—a
pause that throbbed with the despair of
brave men. Disaster had followed fast upon
disaster. The South was all but lost. Two
armies had been wiped out of existence in
three months, and what was left was but a
pitiful remnant. Washington’s force in the
North was so weakened by detaching troops
for the defense of the South that he was unable
to strike a blow. And now this calamity
was the culmination. A murmur broke out
in the room. Then, as though galvanized into
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_399'></a>399</span>
action by that murmur, John Drayton, who
had stood as though petrified, bounded forward
with a roar.
</p>
<p>
“’Tis false,” he cried, whipping out his
sword. “I’ll run any man through who says
that my general is a traitor!”
</p>
<p>
He advanced threateningly toward General
Gates as he spoke. He had drawn upon his
superior officer, but there was no anger in the
glance that Horatio Gates cast upon him.
</p>
<p>
“Would God it were false,” he said solemnly.
“But here are proofs. This is a letter
from Congress; this one from General Washington
himself, and this——”
</p>
<p>
“I tell you it is not true,” reiterated the
boy fiercely. “Look how they’ve always
treated him! It’s another one of their vile
charges trumped up against him. Daniel Morgan,
you were with him at Quebec and Saratoga!
Are you going to stand there and hear
such calumny?”
</p>
<p>
Morgan hid his face in his hands and a sob
broke from his lips. The sound seemed to
pierce Drayton like a sword thrust. His arm
dropped to his side, and he turned from one
to another searching their faces eagerly, but
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_400'></a>400</span>
their sorrowful countenances only spoke confirmation
of the news.
</p>
<p>
“In mercy, speak,” he cried with a catch in
his voice. “Peggy, tell me truth! Speak
to me!”
</p>
<p>
“John, John, I’m afraid ’tis true,” cried
Peggy going to him with outstretched hands.
“Don’t take it like this! Thee must be
brave.”
</p>
<p>
But with a cry, so full of anguish, of heartbreak,
that they paled as they heard it, Drayton
sank to the floor.
</p>
<p>
“Boy, I loved him too,” spoke Colonel
Morgan brokenly. “We were both with him
on that march to Quebec. And at Saratoga
in that mad charge he made. I loved
him——”
</p>
<p>
He could not proceed. Bending over the
prostrate lad he lifted him, and with his arm
about him drew him from the room. Peggy
broke into a passion of tears as Drayton’s
wailing cry came back to her:
</p>
<p>
“My general! My general! My general!”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_401'></a>401</span><a name='chXXXII' id='chXXXII'></a>CHAPTER XXXII—ON THE ALTAR OF HIS COUNTRY</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>“If&#160;you&#160;fail&#160;Honor&#160;here,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Never&#160;presume&#160;to&#160;serve&#160;her&#160;any&#160;more;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Bid&#160;farewell&#160;to&#160;the&#160;integrity&#160;of&#160;armes;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>And&#160;the&#160;honorable&#160;name&#160;of&#160;soldier</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Fall&#160;from&#160;you,&#160;like&#160;a&#160;shivered&#160;wreath&#160;of&#160;laurel</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>By&#160;thunder&#160;struck&#160;from&#160;a&#160;desertlesse&#160;forehead.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>Faire&#160;Quarrell.</i></p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
For a time no sound was heard in the room
but the sobs of the maiden and the broken
utterances of the men. The tears of the latter
were no shame to their manhood, for they
were wrung from their hearts by the defection
of a great soldier.
</p>
<p>
The friend of Washington and of Schuyler!
The brilliant, dashing soldier with whose exploits
the country had rung but a short time
since; if this man was traitor whom could
they trust?
</p>
<p>
Presently Peggy felt a light touch on her
head, and looked up to find General Gates regarding
her with solicitude.
</p>
<p>
“My child,” he said, “I am about to ride
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_402'></a>402</span>
into Hillsboro’ to confer with Governor Nash.
Will you permit me to be your escort? We
must find a resting place for you. You must
be weary after this trying day.”
</p>
<p>
“I am,” she replied sadly. “Wearied and
heart-sick. Thee is very kind, and I thank
thee.” She rose instantly, and followed him
to the door where the orderly had her horse
in charge.
</p>
<p>
What a change had come over the encampment.
From lip to lip the tidings had flown,
and white-faced men huddled about the
camp-fires talking in whispers. No longer
song, or story, or merry jest enlivened the
evening rest time, but a hush was over the
encampment such as follows a great battle
when many have fallen.
</p>
<p>
Seeing that she was so depressed General
Gates exerted himself to cheer her despondency,
leaving her when Hillsborough was
reached in the care of a motherly woman.
</p>
<p>
“I shall send Lieutenant Drayton to you
in the morning,” he said as he was taking his
departure. “He will need comfort, child; as
we all do, but the boy was wrapped up in Arnold.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_403'></a>403</span>
</p>
<p>
It was noon the next day before Drayton
appeared, and Peggy was shocked at the
change in him. There was no longer a trace
of jauntiness in his manner. There were deep
circles under his eyes, and he was pale and
haggard as though he had not slept.
</p>
<p>
“John,” she cried, her heart going out to
him for his sorrow, “thee must not take this
matter so. General Washington is left us.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” he replied, “but I loved him so.
Oh, Peggy! Peggy! why did he do it?”
</p>
<p>
“I know not,” she answered soberly.
“After thee left Philadelphia there were
rumors concerning General Arnold’s extravagance.
Mother was much exercised anent
the matter. But as to whether that had anything
to do with this, I know not.”
</p>
<p>
“How shall I bear it?” he cried suddenly.
“Who shall take his place? Had he been
with us there would have been another tale
to tell of Camden.”
</p>
<p>
“That may be, John.” And then, seeking
to beguile his thoughts from the matter, she
added with sweet craftiness: “Thee has not
told me how thee came to be down here?
Nor yet if thee ever returned to New York
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_404'></a>404</span>
City after that trip with the wood? Thee
should have seen Cousin William after the
failure of the alert. That was why he brought
me down here.”
</p>
<p>
“Tell me about it, Peggy,” he replied with
kindling interest. And the girl, pleased
with her artifice, related all that had befallen
her.
</p>
<p>
“And now?” he questioned. “What are
you going to do now?”
</p>
<p>
“There is but one thing to do, John,” she
answered, surprised by the query. “That is,
to get home as quickly as possible.”
</p>
<p>
“I like not for you to undertake such a
journey, Peggy. There are more loyalists in
the South than elsewhere, which was the
reason the war was transferred to these states.
’Tis a dangerous journey even for a man.
’Tis hard to get despatches to and from Congress,
as you know by the death of that poor
fellow whose letters you carried. I don’t believe
that your mother would like for you to
undertake it.”
</p>
<p>
“But there is danger in staying, John. No
part of the Carolinas is safe from an incursion
of the enemy. ’Tis as far back to the plantation at
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_405'></a>405</span>
Charlotte as ’twould be to go on to
Virginia, and I want my mother. Friend
Hart said that he and his wife would travel
slowly so that I could o’ertake them.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes; you ought to be out of this,” agreed
Drayton. “Every part of this country down
here is being ravaged by Tories, who seem
determined to destroy whatever the British
leave. Would that I could take you to your
mother, Peggy, but I cannot leave without
deserting, and that I——”
</p>
<p>
“Thee must not think of it,” she interrupted,
looking at him fearfully.
</p>
<p>
“And that,” he went on steadily without
noticing the interruption, “I would not do,
even for you.”
</p>
<p>
“That forever settles my last doubt of thee,”
declared Peggy with an attempt at sprightliness.
“I know that thee is willing to do
almost anything for me.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” he replied. “And now I must go.”
</p>
<p>
“Shall I see thee again before I leave,
John?”
</p>
<p>
“When do you start?”
</p>
<p>
“In the morning. I waited to-day to see
thee.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_406'></a>406</span>
</p>
<p>
“Then it must be good-bye now,” he said.
“I am to carry some despatches to General
Marion on the morrow, and that will take us
far apart, Peggy. I asked for the mission;
for I must have action at the present time. I
like not to think.”
</p>
<p>
“Don’t be too venturesome,” pleaded the
girl. “We who know thee have no need of
valiant deeds to prove thy merit.”
</p>
<p>
“I want a chance to distinguish myself,”
declared the lad. “That, and to prove my
loyalty too. All of General Arnold’s old men
will be regarded with suspicion until they
show that they are true. And now good-bye,
Peggy.”
</p>
<p>
“Good-bye, John,” spoke the maiden sorrowfully.
“Thee carries my sympathy and
prayers with thee.”
</p>
<p>
He bade her good-bye again, and left.
Early next morning Peggy set forth at speed
hoping to overtake Mr. and Mistress Hart before
the day’s end. Her thoughts were busied
with Drayton and his grief, and she now
acknowledged to herself the fear that had
filled her lest he too should prove disloyal.
</p>
<p>
“But it hath not even occurred to him to
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_407'></a>407</span>
be other than true,” she told herself with rejoicing.
</p>
<p>
And so thinking she rode along briskly, and
was not long in reaching the spot where they
had been stopped by the dying vidette. She
gazed at the place with melancholy, noting
that the bushes were trampled as though a
number of men had passed over them. Doubting
not but that this appearance had been
caused by the soldiers who had been sent for
the body, which was indeed the fact, the girl
sped on rapidly, trying not to think of all
that had occurred in the past few days.
</p>
<p>
Peggy had been sure of her bearings up to
this time, for she had traversed the highway
twice to this point, but from this on she was
confronted by an unfamiliar road. So it happened
that when directly she came to a place
where the road diverged into two forks, she
drew rein in bewilderment.
</p>
<p>
“Why,” she exclaimed, “I don’t know
which one to take. What shall I do? How
shall I decide, Star?” appealing to the only
living thing near.
</p>
<p>
Hearing her name the little mare neighed,
tossed her head, and turned into the branch
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_408'></a>408</span>
of the roadway running toward the South,
just as though she had taken matters in hand
for herself. Peggy laughed.
</p>
<p>
“So thee is going to decide for me, is thee?”
she asked patting the pony’s neck. “Well,
we might as well go in this direction as the
other. I know not which is the right one. I
hope that we will come to a house soon where
I may ask.”
</p>
<p>
But no dwelling of any kind came in sight.
The afternoon wore away, and the girl became
anxious. She did not wish to pass the night
in the woods. The memory of that night so
long ago when she and Harriet had ridden to
Amboy was not so pleasant that she wished to
repeat the experience. But Star sped ahead
as though familiar with her surroundings.
At nightfall there was still no sign of either
Joe Hart and his wife, or sight of habitation.
</p>
<p>
“I fear me we have lost our way, Star,” she
mused aloud. “I wonder what we’d best do?
Keep moving, methinks. ’Tis the only way
to reach anywhere.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy tried to smile at her little sally, but
with poor success. The pony trotted ahead as
if she at least was not bewildered, and presently,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_409'></a>409</span>
to the girl’s amazement, of her own
accord turned into a lane that would have
escaped Peggy’s notice. To her further astonishment
at a short distance from the highway
stood a woodman’s hut, and the mare
paused before the door.
</p>
<p>
“Why, thou dear creature!” cried Peggy
in delight. “It seems just as though thee
knew the way.”
</p>
<p>
She dismounted, and with the bridle over
her arm approached the cabin almost gaily,
so greatly relieved was she at finding a shelter.
A woman came to the door in answer to her
knock, and opened it part way.
</p>
<p>
“What do you want?” she asked harshly.
</p>
<p>
“A lodging for the night, friend,” answered
the maiden, surprised by this reception, for
the people were usually hospitable and friendly.
</p>
<p>
“How many air you?” was the next question.
</p>
<p>
“Myself alone, friend,” replied Peggy, more
and more amazed. “I wish food and a stable
for my pony also. I will pay thee for it,” she
added with a sudden remembrance of the
money that Henry Egan had given her.
</p>
<p>
“Well, come in.” The door was opened,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_410'></a>410</span>
and the woman regarded her curiously as she
entered. It was but a one-room hut, and a
boy of twelve appeared to be its only occupant
aside from the woman. He rose as the
girl entered, and went out to attend the
horse.
</p>
<p>
“Do you want something to eat?” asked
the woman ungraciously.
</p>
<p>
“If thee pleases,” answered Peggy, ill at
ease at so much surliness. The woman placed
food before her, and watched her while she
ate.
</p>
<p>
“Where air you all going?” she asked
presently.
</p>
<p>
“To Philadelphia, in the state of Pennsylvania,”
explained Peggy, who had found that
many of the women in the Carolinas were but
ill-informed as to locations of places.
</p>
<p>
“Is that off toward Virginia?”
</p>
<p>
“I must go through Virginia to reach
there,” said the girl.
</p>
<p>
“You’re going wrong, then,” the woman
informed her. “You air headed now for
South Carolina.”
</p>
<p>
The girl uttered a cry of dismay.
</p>
<p>
At this moment the urchin reëntered the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_411'></a>411</span>
hut, and whispered a moment to his mother.
Instantly a change came over her. She turned
to Peggy with a glimmer of a smile.
</p>
<p>
“Air you a friend?” she asked.
</p>
<p>
“Why, yes,” answered Peggy, thinking naturally
that she meant the sect of Quakers.
“I should think thee would know that.”
</p>
<p>
“You can’t always tell down here. Sam
says that you air riding Cap’n Hazy’s horse.
It used to stop here often last summer.”
</p>
<p>
“Then that was why the pony brought me
here,” cried the girl in surprise. “I was lost.
How strange!”
</p>
<p>
“Why, no. Horses always go where they
are used to going,” said the woman, in a
matter-of-fact tone. “That is, if you give ’em
their head. When is the cap’n coming?”
</p>
<p>
“How should I know?” asked Peggy, staring
at her. “I don’t——”
</p>
<p>
“We air friends, miss. You needn’t be
afraid to say anything you like. But you air
right. Keep a still tongue in these times.
’Tis safest. And now, I reckon you’d like to
go to bed?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, if you please,” answered the maiden,
so amazed by the conversation that she welcomed the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_412'></a>412</span>
change for reflection. Was Captain
Hazy the British commander of the foraging
party who had come to the plantation,
she wondered. It occurred to her that it might
be wise to accept her hostess’s advice to keep
a still tongue.
</p>
<p>
There was but one bed in the room, and
this was given Peggy, while the mother and
son simply lay down upon the floor before the
fire, which was the custom among mountaineers.
Without disrobing the girl lay down,
but not to sleep. She was uneasy, and the
more she reflected upon her position the more
it came to her that she had been rash to start
out alone as she had done.
</p>
<p>
“But I won’t turn back now,” she decided.
“I will take some of the money which Friend
Henry gave me, and hire some one to take me
home. ’Tis what I should have done at first.”
</p>
<p>
At the first sign of dawn she was astir.
The woman rose at the same time, and prepared
her a hot breakfast.
</p>
<p>
“Now you just go right down that way,”
she told Peggy, as the maiden mounted her
pony, indicating the direction as she spoke.
“That’ll take you down to the Cross Creek
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_413'></a>413</span>
road. Ford the river at Cross Creek, and
you will be right on the lower road to Virginia.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy thanked her, gave her a half guinea,
and departed. Could she have followed the
direction given she would, as the woman said,
have been on the lower road to Virginia, but
alas, such general directions took no account
of numerous crossroads and forkings,
and the maiden was soon in a maze. That
night she found a resting-place at a farmhouse
where the accommodations were of a
better nature, but when she tried to hire a
man for guidance not one seemed willing
to go.
</p>
<p>
“They were needed at home,” they said.
“There were so many raiding parties that
men could not be spared.” Which was true,
but disheartening to Peggy.
</p>
<p>
In this manner three days went by. At
long distances apart were houses of some description,
and many ruins, some of them
smoldering.
</p>
<p>
On the afternoon of the third day Peggy
was riding along slowly, thoroughly discouraged,
when all at once from the dense
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_414'></a>414</span>
woods that lined the roadway there emerged
the form of a horseman.
</p>
<p>
He was hatless and disheveled in appearance,
and he surveyed the road as though
fearful of meeting a foe. As his glance fell
upon the maiden he uttered an ejaculation,
and dashed toward her.
</p>
<p>
“Peggy,” he cried staring at her in amaze,
“what in the world are you doing down here
in South Carolina? I thought you in Virginia
by this time.”
</p>
<p>
“I would not be surprised if thee told me
that I was in Africa,” answered poor Peggy
half laughing, half crying. “I started for
Virginia, but took a wrong turning, and seem
to have kept on taking them ever since. I
don’t want to be down here, but no one will
come with me to guide me, and I always go
wrong on the crossroads.”
</p>
<p>
In spite of the gravity of the situation
Drayton, for it was he, laughed.
</p>
<p>
“Nay,” he said, “let me believe that you
came down here to help me deliver my despatches
to Marion. I will have to take you
in charge. Let me think what to do. I have
it! There is a farmhouse where Whigs are
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_415'></a>415</span>
welcomed near here. You shall stay there
until these papers are delivered, and then we
shall see if something can’t be arranged.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, thank thee, John,” cried she, mightily
relieved. “’Tis so nice to have some one to
plan. I shall do just as thee says, for I begin
to believe that I am not so capable as I
thought.”
</p>
<p>
“These winding roads are enough to confuse
any one,” he told her. “You are not
alone in getting lost, Peggy. Some of the
soldiers do too, if they are not familiar with
localities.”
</p>
<p>
Cheered by this meeting, Peggy’s spirits
rose, and she chatted gaily, not noticing that
Drayton kept looking behind them, and that
he frequently rode a little ahead, as though he
were on the lookout.
</p>
<p>
“What is it?” she asked at length becoming
aware that something was amiss. “Is
there danger, John?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, Peggy. South Carolina is full of
British, you know. I must watch for an
ambush. I would not fail to deliver these
despatches for anything. They are important,
and as I told you the other day, all of
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_416'></a>416</span>
us who were under Arnold will be suspected
until tried.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy grew pale. “I did not know there
was danger, John. Doth my presence increase
your anxiety?”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis pleasure to have you, Peggy, but I
would rather you were in Virginia for your
own safety. However, we shall soon turn
into a side road which will lead to that farmhouse
I spoke about. I could no longer get
through the woods, or I should not have left
them for the highway. But had I not done
so I would not have met you. ’Tis marvelous,
Peggy, that you have met with no harm.”
</p>
<p>
“Why should I meet with any?” she
queried. “I am but a girl, and can bring
hurt to none.”
</p>
<p>
Drayton drew rein suddenly, and listened.
</p>
<p>
“We must make a run for it, Peggy,” he
cried. “The British are coming. I gave
them the slip a while ago, but I hear them
down the road. If we can reach the lane we
may escape them.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy called to Star, and the boy and girl
struck into a gallop. It was soon evident,
however, that Drayton was holding back his
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_417'></a>417</span>
horse for Peggy to keep pace with him. As
Peggy realized this a whoop from the pursuers
told that they had caught sight of them,
and the clattering hoofs that they were gaining
upon them.
</p>
<p>
“John,” she cried, “go on! Thee can get
away then.”
</p>
<p>
“And leave you, Peggy? Never,” he answered.
</p>
<p>
“But thy despatches? Thee just told me
they must be delivered. Thee must go on.”
</p>
<p>
“No,” he replied with set lips.
</p>
<p>
“’Tis thy duty,” she said imploringly.
</p>
<p>
“I know, but I’m not going to leave you
to the mercy of those fiends,” he cried.
</p>
<p>
“John, thee must not fail. See! they are
gaining. Go, go! Does thee remember that
thee will be suspected until thee is tried?”
</p>
<p>
“I know,” he said doggedly, “but I won’t
leave you.”
</p>
<p>
“For thy country’s sake,” she entreated.
“Oh, John, I can’t have thee fail because of
me. Think of that poor vidette. Is thee
going to do less than he? ’Tis thy duty.”
</p>
<p>
“Peggy, don’t ask it,” he pleaded.
</p>
<p>
“Thee is less than soldier if thee doesn’t do
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_418'></a>418</span>
thy duty,” she cried, quick to see her advantage.
“John Drayton, I will never trust thee
again if thee fails in thy duty now.”
</p>
<p>
The two young people gazed at each other
through the dust of the road, the girl with
earnest entreaty, determined to keep the lad
to his duty in spite of himself, and the youth
torn by his fear for her and his loyalty.
</p>
<p>
“Go,” she cried again. “I am a soldier’s
daughter. Would I be worthy the name if
thee failed because of me? Go at once, or
’twill be too late.”
</p>
<p>
“I’m going, Peggy,” he said with a sob.
“I’m going to do my duty even if you are the
sacrifice. Take this pistol, and defend yourself.
Good-bye.” He bent and kissed her hand, and
then without one backward glance went flying
down the road and disappeared around a bend.
For duty to country must come before everything,
and father, mother, brother, sister, wife
or sweetheart, must be sacrificed upon its altar,
if need arises.
</p>
<p>
There was a smile on Peggy’s lips, for Drayton
had kept to his duty in spite of as great a temptation
as ever assailed a man to do otherwise, and
so smiling she turned to meet the pursuers.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_419'></a>419</span><a name='chXXXIII' id='chXXXIII'></a>CHAPTER XXXIII—A GREAT SURPRISE</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“A&#160;man’s&#160;country&#160;is&#160;not&#160;a&#160;certain&#160;area&#160;of&#160;land,&#160;of</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>mountains,&#160;rivers&#160;and&#160;woods—but&#160;it&#160;is&#160;a&#160;principle,&#160;and</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>patriotism&#160;is&#160;loyalty&#160;to&#160;that&#160;principle.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'><i>—George&#160;William&#160;Curtis.</i></p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
There came hoarse shouts from the pursuing
troopers as Drayton disappeared from view,
and they galloped toward the girl at increased
speed. There was something so fierce, so martial
in their aspect that it struck terror to the
maiden’s heart, and she found herself all at
once shaking and quaking with fear.
</p>
<p>
Dear as freedom is to every pulse, standing
up for the first time before an advancing foe
one is apt to find one’s courage oozing out at
the fingers’ ends. And so with Peggy.
</p>
<p>
The smile died from her lips, and a sort of
panic took possession of her as the sunshine
caught the sheen of their scabbards and lighted
into glowing color the scarlet of their uniforms.
Nearer they came. The girl trembled
like a leaf.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_420'></a>420</span>
</p>
<p>
“I am a soldier’s daughter,” she told herself
in an effort to regain self-control. “I will die
like one.”
</p>
<p>
Almost unconsciously her little hand
clutched the pistol that Drayton had thrust
into it, and, as the enemy were nearly upon
her, in an agony of fear Peggy raised the
weapon and fired. The foremost dragoon
reeled slightly, recovered his balance immediately,
and drew rein with his right arm
hanging limply by his side. The others also
checked their horses as a scream of horror
burst from Peggy’s lips.
</p>
<p>
“God forgive me,” she cried. “Blood-guiltiness
is upon me! I knew not what I
did.”
</p>
<p>
And with this cry she threw the pistol from
her, and dashed at once to the dragoon’s side.
</p>
<p>
“Thee is hurt,” she exclaimed looking up
at him wildly. “Forgive me, friend. I
meant not to harm thee. Oh, I meant it
not!”
</p>
<p>
“Then why did you fire?” he demanded,
regarding her with astonishment.
</p>
<p>
Peggy wrung her hands in anguish.
</p>
<p>
“I was afraid. Thee and thy troopers
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_421'></a>421</span>
looked so terrible that I was in panic. I
knew not what I did, friend. And thy arm!
See how it bleeds! Sir, let me bandage it, I
pray thee. I have some skill in such matters.”
</p>
<p>
Her distress was so evident, her contrition
so sincere that the scowl on his face relaxed.
Without further word he removed his coat,
and let her examine the injured member
while the dragoons gathered about them,
eyeing the girl curiously. Her face grew
deadly pale at sight of the blood that gushed
forth from a wound near the elbow, but controlling
her emotion she deftly applied a
ligature, using her own kerchief for it.
</p>
<p>
“You’re a fine rebel,” was his comment as
she completed the self-imposed task. “Shoot
a man so that you can patch him up! ’Tis
small wonder that you have skill in such
matters. Gordon, bring me that pistol. ’Tis
the first time that Banastre Tarleton hath
been wounded in this war, and I am minded
to keep the weapon that did it.”
</p>
<p>
“Is thee Colonel Tarleton?” asked she, her
heart sinking.
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” he made answer, a peculiar light
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_422'></a>422</span>
coming into his eyes at her involuntary
shrinking. “And now, my fair rebel with
the Quaker speech, will you tell me why one
of your sect fires upon an officer of His
Majesty? But perchance you are not a
Quakeress?”
</p>
<p>
“Methought I was in all but politics,” she
replied. “I have been trained all my life to
believe that courage is displayed, and honor
attained by doing and suffering; but I have
sadly departed from the ways of peace,” she
added humbly. “I knew not before that my
nature had been so corrupted by the war that
my fortitude had become ferocity. Yet it
must be so since I have resorted to violence
and the shedding of blood. And how shall I
tell my mother!”
</p>
<p>
“Have you despatches?” he asked sternly.
“Where were you going when we captured
you? I suppose that you realize that you are
my prisoner?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes; I know, sir. I bear no despatches,”
she told him meeting his eyes so frankly that
he could not but believe her. “I was trying
to get to my home in Philadelphia. I started
three days since, but lost my way. Every one
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_423'></a>423</span>
I asked for guidance gave it, correctly, I
doubt not, but what with the crossroads and
swamps, and being unfamiliar with the country
I have gone far astray. Now I suppose
that I shall never see my mother again!”
</p>
<p>
“Well, you know that you deserve some
punishment for that hurt. And now what
about that fellow that was with you? Why
did the dastard leave you? Zounds! how can
a maiden prefer any of these uncouth rascals
when they exhibit such craven spirit!”
</p>
<p>
“He was doing his duty, sir,” answered
Peggy, and her eyes flashed with such fire that
he laughed, well pleased that he could rouse her.
</p>
<p>
“His duty, eh? And did duty call him so
strongly that he could leave a girl alone to
face what might be certain death? We English
would call it another name.”
</p>
<p>
“Then you English would know nothing
of true courage,” she retorted. “He is a
patriot, and his duty must come before everything
else. Thee will find, if thee has not
already found, Colonel Tarleton, that these
uncouth rascals, as thee terms them, are not
so wanting in spirit as thy words imply.”
</p>
<p>
“No; ’fore George, they are not,” he exclaimed. “And
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_424'></a>424</span>
now unravel your story to
me. Your whole history, while we go on to
Camden. ’Tis a goodly distance, and ’twill
serve to make me forget this hurt.”
</p>
<p>
“Doth it pain thee so much?” she asked
tremulously, the soft light of pity and sorrow
springing again to her eyes.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, yes,” he answered grimly. “But now
your story, mistress. And leave out no part
of it. I wish to know of all your treasonable
doings so as to make your punishment commensurable
with your merits.”
</p>
<p>
And Peggy, suppressing that part of her
narrative that related to the army, told him
how she had been taken to New York, of the
shipwreck, and about her efforts to reach her
home.
</p>
<p>
“And so Colonel Owen of the Welsh Fusileers
is your cousin,” he mused. “Methought
that I had seen you somewhere, and now I
know that it must have been at his house.
Would you like to stay with your cousin and
his daughter until I decide upon your punishment?”
</p>
<p>
“Thee did not understand, I fear me,” she
exclaimed with a startled glance. “I could
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_425'></a>425</span>
not stay with them because they were lost at
sea. Does thee not remember that I said they
were on the ‘Falcon’?”
</p>
<p>
“True; but you could not see for the fog
what happened after you left in the small
boat. They were rescued by another schooner,
the ‘Rose,’ which I was on myself. We
escaped serious injury in the storm, and came
across the ‘Falcon’ just in time to rescue the
crew and skipper, and those officers and others
who happened to be aboard.”
</p>
<p>
For a short time Peggy was so overcome that
she could not speak, but at last she murmured
faintly:
</p>
<p>
“Oh, I am glad, glad!”
</p>
<p>
“What sort of girl are you,” he asked
abruptly, “that you rejoice over their rescue?
They were unkind to you, by your own telling.
Why should you feel joy that they are
living?”
</p>
<p>
“They are my kinspeople,” she said. “And
sometimes they were kind. Had it not been
for Harriet I would not have been in the little
boat. She made me enter it when to remain
on the ‘Falcon’ seemed certain death. She
knew not that they would be rescued.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_426'></a>426</span>
</p>
<p>
“Perhaps not,” he remarked dryly. “Although
I have never known Mistress Harriet
Owen to do one act that had not an underlying
motive. But I should not speak so to
one who sees no wrong in others.”
</p>
<p>
“Don’t,” she uttered the tears springing to
her eyes at the sneer. “I do see wrong; and
thee doesn’t know how hard I am trying not
to feel bitter toward them. I dare not think
that ’tis to them I owe not seeing my mother
for so long. I—I am not very good,” she
faltered, “and thee knows by that wound
how I am failing in living up to my teaching.”
</p>
<p>
“I see,” he said; and was silent.
</p>
<p>
Camden, a strong post held by the British
in the central northern part of South Carolina,
was reached at length. It was at this place
that General Gates met his overwhelming defeat
in the August before, and as Peggy viewed
its defenses she could not but wonder that he
had ventured to attack it. Colonel Tarleton
proceeded at once to a large two-story dwelling,
the wide verandah of which opened directly
upon the main street.
</p>
<p>
“I will leave you,” he began, but Peggy
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_427'></a>427</span>
uttered a cry of surprise as a girl’s figure came
slowly through the open door of the house.
</p>
<p>
“Harriet! Harriet!” she cried. “Oh,
thee didn’t tell me that Harriet was here!”
</p>
<p>
She sprang lightly from the pony’s back,
and ran joyfully up the steps, with arms outstretched.
</p>
<p>
“I thought thee dead,” she cried with a
little sob. “I knew not until now that thou
wert alive. Oh, Harriet, Harriet! I am so
glad thee lives. And where is Cousin William?
And oh!——” she broke off in dismay.
“What hath happened to thee? What
is the matter, Harriet?”
</p>
<p>
For Harriet’s wonderful eyes no longer
flashed with brilliancy but met her own with
a dreary, lustreless gaze. Her marvelous
complexion had lost its transparency, and was
dull and sallow. She leaned weakly upon
Peggy’s shoulder, and as the latter, shocked at
the change in the once spirited Harriet, asked
again, “Oh, what is the matter? What hath
happened?” she burst into tears without replying.
</p>
<p>
“’Tis the Southern fever,” spoke Colonel
Owen, coming to the door at this moment.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_428'></a>428</span>
“So you escaped a briny grave, my little
cousin? How came you here? Was it to
seek us that you came? You at least seem to
have suffered no inconvenience from this
climate. It hath carried off many of our
soldiers, and Harriet hath pulled through by
a miracle. It will take time, however, to
restore her fully to strength. Did you say
you came to seek us?”
</p>
<p>
“Nay,” interposed Colonel Tarleton. “The
girl is my prisoner, Colonel Owen. I will
leave her with you for the present, but will
hold you answerable for her safety. You are
to send her to me each day so that she may
give attention to this wound which I owe to
her marksmanship. So soon as it shall heal I
will decide upon her punishment.”
</p>
<p>
“Well, upon my word, my cousin,” exclaimed
William Owen as Colonel Tarleton,
scowling fiercely, went away. “You are
improving. I knew not that Quakers believed
in bloodshed. Tell us about it.”
</p>
<p>
And Peggy, drawing Harriet close to her in
her strong young arms, told of her rescue and
how she came to be once more with them.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_429'></a>429</span><a name='chXXXIV' id='chXXXIV'></a>CHAPTER XXXIV—HOME</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“The&#160;bugles&#160;sound&#160;the&#160;swift&#160;recall;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Cling,&#160;clang!&#160;backward&#160;all!</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Home,&#160;and&#160;good-night!”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>E.&#160;C.&#160;Stedman.</i></p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
Each day Peggy was taken to Colonel
Tarleton to attend his wound. It was in
truth painful, and often her tears fell fast
upon the inflamed surface when she saw the
suffering he endured, and knew that it had
been caused by her hand. But it was healed
at last, and when she told him joyfully that
he had no further need of bandages or treatment,
he looked at her with some amusement.
</p>
<p>
“And now for the punishment,” he observed.
“What do you deserve, mistress?”
</p>
<p>
“I don’t know,” said Peggy, growing pale.
</p>
<p>
“I leave for the southern part of the state
to-morrow,” he said. “The matter must be
decided to-day. What say you to a parole?”
</p>
<p>
“Nay,” and the girl shook her head. “My
father doth not believe in them, and neither
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_430'></a>430</span>
do I. I want to be free to help the cause in
any way that I can.”
</p>
<p>
“Well, upon my word!” he cried. “You
are pleased to be frank.”
</p>
<p>
“Would you not rather have me so, sir?”
she asked.
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” he answered. “I would. Then
what are we to do? Ah! I have it. I shall
banish you.”
</p>
<p>
“Banish me?” repeated she with quivering
lips. “To—to what place, sir?”
</p>
<p>
“A distant place called Philadelphia,” he
answered. “Think you that you can bear
such exile?”
</p>
<p>
“Sir,” she faltered, trembling excessively,
“do not jest, I pray thee. I—I cannot bear it.”
</p>
<p>
“Child,” he said dropping the banter, “I
jest not. I am going to take you to Georgetown
and put you aboard ship for the North.
I am sincere, I assure you.”
</p>
<p>
“Thee will do this?” she cried not daring
to credit her senses.
</p>
<p>
“Yes; and for this reason: In all this land,
ay! and in England also, no one hath ever
before shed a tear when aught of ill hath
befallen Banastre Tarleton. Had any other
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_431'></a>431</span>
woman, or girl, or man in this entire Southland
wounded me there would have been rejoicing
instead of sorrow. Had you not been sincere
I would have made you repent bitterly. As
it is, this is my punishment: that you proceed
to your mother as fast as sail can carry you.”
</p>
<p>
“And they call thee cruel?” cried the girl
catching his hand. “Sir, none shall ever do
so again in my presence.”
</p>
<p>
“Come,” he said. “I will go with you to
your cousins. You must be ready for an early
start to-morrow. A number of loyalists are
going to Georgetown to take ship for other
ports, so there will be a numerous company.”
</p>
<p>
But Harriet received the news with dismay.
</p>
<p>
“What shall I do?” she cried, the tears
streaming from her eyes. “I was getting
better, and now you will go and leave me
again. Oh, Peggy, I want to go too!”
</p>
<p>
Colonel Owen looked up eagerly.
</p>
<p>
“Why not?” he asked. “’Twould be the
very thing! Peggy, could you not take
Harriet with you? In Philadelphia she
would regain her strength. A change from
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_432'></a>432</span>
this malarious climate is what she needs.
Won’t you take her, Peggy?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Peggy, do take me,” pleaded Harriet.
“I shall die here!”
</p>
<p>
But Peggy made no answer. She looked
from father to daughter, from daughter to
father thoughtfully. Over her rushed the
many things that had befallen her since they
had entered her life. The father had caused
the death of her dog; had treated her mother
and herself scornfully; had lodged a spy in
their very home; and had finally robbed them
of everything the house contained in the way
of food.
</p>
<p>
And Harriet! Had she not deceived them
all? Her father, mother and herself? Would
she not do so again if she were to be with
them once more? Would she not spy and
plot against the cause if she were given opportunity?
Could she forgive and forget the
deceit, the long absence from her mother, the
hardships and trials, and take her to her own
dear home? Could she do it?
</p>
<p>
Her heart throbbed painfully as she turned
a searching glance toward her cousin. She
was so thin, so wasted, so different from her
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_433'></a>433</span>
former brilliant self, that the last tinge of
bitterness left Peggy, and a sudden glow of
tenderness rushed over her.
</p>
<p>
“Of course thee shall come with me,” she
cried, catching Harriet’s hands and drawing
her to her. “And thee shall see how soon
mother and I will make thee well. And oh,
Harriet, thee will be in my very own home!”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, I shall be so glad,” cried Harriet, a
faint flush coming to her face. “Father, do
you hear? Peggy says that I am to go!”
</p>
<p>
“You are a good little thing after all,
Peggy,” observed Colonel Owen, not without
emotion. “A good little thing!”
</p>
<p>
“I think that I will leave this love-feast,”
exclaimed Colonel Tarleton, laughing cynically.
“’Fore George, but I am glad the girl
is going. A little more of this sort of influence
would be bad for my reputation as
leader of the cruel raiders. Be sure that you
are up betimes, Mistress Peggy. I will have
no dallying in the morning.”
</p>
<p>
“I will be ready, and so will Harriet,”
cried Peggy, darting to his side and seizing
the hand of the arm that she had wounded.
Bending quickly she kissed it, exclaiming,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_434'></a>434</span>
“I will never forget how good thee has been,
sir.”
</p>
<p>
“There,” exclaimed he. “I have no more
time to spare.” And he strode away.
</p>
<p>
It was a snowy day in early December,
fourteen days later, that Peggy, mounted on
Star and Harriet on Fleetwood, left the ferry,
and galloped into Philadelphia.
</p>
<p>
“’Tis my own dear city at last,” cried
Peggy excitedly. “And that is the Delaware
in very truth. Thee hasn’t seen a river
like it, has thee, Harriet? We will soon be
home now. ’Tis not much further.”
</p>
<p>
And so in exuberance of spirit she talked
until at length the home in Chestnut Street
was reached. She sprang to the ground just
as Tom, the groom, came to the front of the
house. The darkey gave one glance and then
ran forward, crying:
</p>
<p>
“Foh massy sake, ef hit ain’t Miss Peggy!
An’ Star! Yas, suh, an’ Star! Mis’ Owen
will be powerful glad ter see yer. She am in
de dinin’-room.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, it’s Peggy. Peggy—come to stay,”
cried she, giving the bridle into his hand.
“Come, Harriet!”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_435'></a>435</span>
</p>
<p>
But Harriet hesitated. For the first time
something like confusion and shame appeared
upon her face.
</p>
<p>
“Your mother?” she whispered. “How
will she receive me?” She clasped Peggy’s
hand convulsively. “What will she say to
me?”
</p>
<p>
Before Peggy could answer, the door of the
dwelling opened and Mistress Owen herself
appeared on the threshold. There were lines
of care and grief in her face, and Peggy was
shocked to see that her hair was entirely
white, but in manner she was as serene as of
yore.
</p>
<p>
“I thought——” she began, but at sight of
the slender maiden advancing toward her, she
grew pale, and leaned against the door weakly.
“Peggy?” she whispered.
</p>
<p>
“Mother! Mother! Mother!” screamed the
girl springing to her arms. “Mother, at last!”
</p>
<p>
Her mother clasped her close, as though
she would never let her go again, and so they
stood for a long time. Presently Peggy uttered
a little cry. “Harriet!” she exclaimed
in dismay. “I had forgotten Harriet.” She
ran quickly down the steps, and putting her
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_436'></a>436</span>
arm around her cousin drew her up the stoop
toward Mistress Owen.
</p>
<p>
For the briefest second a shadow marred
the serenity of the lady’s countenance. Then,
as she noted the girl’s wasted form, her glance
changed to one of solicitude and she took
Harriet into her motherly arms.
</p>
<p>
“Thou poor child,” she said gently. “Thou
hast been ill.”
</p>
<p>
“I feared you would not want me,” faltered
Harriet, the ready tears beginning to flow.
</p>
<p>
“We have always wanted thee, my child,
when thou wert thine own true self,” answered
the lady. “But come into the sitting-room.
Sukey shall bring us some tea and
thou shalt rest while Peggy and I talk. Thee
must be tired.”
</p>
<p>
“Tired?” echoed Harriet, sinking into the
great easy chair which Peggy hastened to pull
forward. “Tired?” she repeated with a sigh
of content as the exquisite peacefulness of the
room stole over her senses. “I feel as though
I should never be tired again. ’Tis so restful
here.”
</p>
<p>
“It’s home,” cried Peggy, dancing from
one object to another in her delight. “And
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_437'></a>437</span>
how clean everything is! Was it always so,
mother?”
</p>
<p>
“That speech doth not speak well for the
places of thy sojourning, my daughter,” observed
her mother with a slight smile. “But
tell me how it hath happened that thou hast
returned at last? I wish to know everything
that hath befallen thee.”
</p>
<p>
And nestling close to her mother’s side,
Peggy told all her story.
</p>
<p>
&#160;<br />
&#160;<br />
&#160;<br />
</p>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>The&#160;Stories&#160;in&#160;this&#160;Series&#160;are:</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>&#160;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>PEGGY&#160;OWEN</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>PEGGY&#160;OWEN,&#160;PATRIOT</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>PEGGY&#160;OWEN&#160;AT&#160;YORKTOWN</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>PEGGY&#160;OWEN&#160;AND&#160;LIBERTY</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
&#160;<br />
&#160;<br />
&#160;<br />
</p>
<hr class='tb' />
<p>
LUCY FOSTER MADISON
</p>
<div class='figleft' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<a name='i009' id='i009'></a>
<img src='images/illus453.jpg' alt='' title=''/><br />
</div>
<p>
Mrs. Madison was born in Kirkville, Adair County, Missouri, but
when she was four years old her parents removed to Louisiana,
Missouri, and there her girlhood was spent. She was educated in
the public schools of that place, and graduated from the High
School with the highest honor—the valedictory.
</p>
<p>
As a child she was passionately fond of fairy stories,
dolls and flowers. Up to her eleventh year the book
that influenced her most was “Pilgrim’s Progress.”
Mrs. Madison’s father had a large library filled with
general literature, and she read whatever she thought
interesting. In this way she became acquainted with the
poets, ancient history and the novelists, Dickens and
Scott. It was not until she was twelve that she came
in contact with Miss Alcott’s works, but after that
Joe, Meg, Amy and Beth were her constant companions.
At this time she was also devoted to “Scottish
Chiefs,” “Thaddeus of Warsaw” and “Ivanhoe,” and
always poetry.
</p>
<p>
She doesn’t remember a time when she did not
write. From her earliest childhood she made up little
stories. In school she wrote poems, stories and essays.
When she became a teacher she wrote her own stories
and entertainments for the children’s work.
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Madison’s stories for girls are:
</p>
<p>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Peggy&nbsp;&nbsp;Owen<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Peggy&nbsp;&nbsp;Owen,&nbsp;&nbsp;Patriot<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Peggy&nbsp;&nbsp;Owen&nbsp;&nbsp;at&nbsp;&nbsp;Yorktown<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Peggy&nbsp;&nbsp;Owen&nbsp;&nbsp;and&nbsp;&nbsp;Liberty<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A&nbsp;&nbsp;Colonial&nbsp;&nbsp;Maid&nbsp;&nbsp;of&nbsp;&nbsp;Old&nbsp;&nbsp;Virginia<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A&nbsp;&nbsp;Daughter&nbsp;&nbsp;of&nbsp;&nbsp;the&nbsp;&nbsp;Union<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;In&nbsp;&nbsp;Doublet&nbsp;&nbsp;and&nbsp;&nbsp;Hose<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A&nbsp;&nbsp;Maid&nbsp;&nbsp;of&nbsp;&nbsp;King&nbsp;&nbsp;Alfred’s&nbsp;&nbsp;Court<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A&nbsp;&nbsp;Maid&nbsp;&nbsp;of&nbsp;&nbsp;the&nbsp;&nbsp;First&nbsp;&nbsp;Century<br />
</p>







<pre>





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