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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Peggy Owen at Yorktown, 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 at Yorktown
+
+Author: Lucy Foster Madison
+
+Illustrator: H. J. Peck
+
+Release Date: July 15, 2011 [EBook #36744]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PEGGY OWEN AT YORKTOWN ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Roger Frank, Juliet Sutherland and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: “DID THEE PUT THY NAME ON IT?”]
+
+
+
+
+                               PEGGY OWEN
+                              AT YORKTOWN
+
+                                   BY
+
+                          Lucy Foster Madison
+
+                               Author of
+
+                              “Peggy Owen”
+                          “Peggy Owen Patriot”
+                        “Peggy Owen and Liberty”
+
+                       Illustrated by H. J. Peck
+
+                      The Penn Publishing Company
+                          PHILADELPHIA MCMXVII
+
+
+
+
+                           COPYRIGHT 1911 BY
+                      THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
+
+
+
+
+           “Oh, who can gaze upon the relics here,
+           And not their sacred memories revere?
+           Who can behold the figures of our sires,
+           And not be touched with Freedom’s hallowed fires?”
+
+
+
+
+                              Introduction
+
+The members of the Society of Friends, or “Quakers,” residing in the
+American colonies, were sadly tried during the struggle by those
+colonies against King George. The Quaker principles forbade warfare, but
+the Quaker hearts were often as loyal to their country as any about
+them. Some of these found a way to reconcile principles with patriotism
+and, entering the American army, were known as “fighting Quakers.” David
+Owen, Peggy’s father, was one of these, and the first book of this
+series, “Peggy Owen,” told of some dangers that his brave little
+daughter underwent to serve the cause she loved. In “Peggy Owen Patriot”
+is the story of a winter in New Jersey at Washington’s camp, Peggy’s
+capture, her unwilling stay in New York, and her final escape from her
+British captors in the Carolinas. Her pony, “Star,” who appears again in
+this story, shared many of her dangers. “Peggy Owen and Liberty”
+completes the series.
+
+
+
+
+                                Contents
+
+  CHAPTER                                                          PAGE
+       I. A Loyal Subject of His Majesty,
+          George Third, Makes a Shirt                                11
+      II. Harriet Makes a Present                                    25
+     III. A Glimpse of Clifford                                      38
+      IV. A Strange Presentiment                                     52
+       V. A Day of Note                                              60
+      VI. A Message of Indignation                                   73
+     VII. Harriet Takes Matters in Hand                              90
+    VIII. Hospitality Betrayed                                      103
+      IX. The Dictates of Humanity                                  115
+       X. Farewell to Home                                          127
+      XI. On the Road                                               139
+     XII. The Home of Washington                                    149
+    XIII. The Appearance of the Enemy                               164
+     XIV. The Journey’s End                                         174
+      XV. Peggy is Troubled                                         186
+     XVI. The Tables Turned                                         200
+    XVII. An Unwelcome Encounter                                    211
+   XVIII. Under the Lindens                                         220
+     XIX. Harriet at Last                                           234
+      XX. Vindicated                                                244
+     XXI. A Rash Resolve                                            254
+    XXII. For Love of Country                                       266
+   XXIII. A Question of Courage                                     280
+    XXIV. An Unexpected Encounter                                   289
+     XXV. Her Nearest Relative                                      301
+    XXVI. Tide-Water Again                                          310
+   XXVII. Peggy Receives a Shock                                    321
+  XXVIII. Verified Suspicions                                       333
+    XXIX. “I Shall Not Say Good-bye”                                347
+     XXX. What the Night Brought                                    362
+    XXXI. The Dawn of the Morning                                   376
+   XXXII. “Lights Out”                                              395
+
+
+
+
+                             Illustrations
+
+  “Did Thee Put Thy Name On It?”                           Frontispiece
+  “Thee Must be John Paul Jones”                                     70
+  “I Have Heard Nothing”                                            119
+  “Why Have You Come?”                                              183
+  “Benedict Arnold Forces His Presence Upon No One”                 216
+  “Draw and Defend Yourself!”                                       298
+  She Stepped Into the Room                                         355
+
+
+
+
+PEGGY OWEN AT YORKTOWN
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I—A LOYAL SUBJECT OF HIS MAJESTY, GEORGE THIRD, MAKES A SHIRT
+
+
+           “Alone by the Schuylkill a wanderer roved,
+             And bright were its flowery banks to his eye,
+           But far, very far were the friends that he loved,
+             And he gazed on its flowery banks with a sigh.”
+
+                                              —Thomas Moore.
+
+It was a fine winter day. There had been a week of murky skies and
+dripping boughs; a week of rain, and mud, and slush; a week of such
+disagreeable weather that when the citizens of Philadelphia awoke, on
+this twenty-first day of February, 1781, to find the sun shining in a
+sky of almost cloudless blue and the air keen and invigorating, they
+rejoiced, and went about their daily tasks thrilled anew with the
+pleasure of living.
+
+About ten o’clock on the morning of this sunlit winter day a young girl
+was slowly wending her way up Chestnut Street. At every few steps she
+was obliged to pause to lift into place a huge bundle she was carrying—a
+bundle so large that she could just reach her arms about it, and clasp
+her hands together in the comfortable depths of a great muff. A ripple
+of laughter rose to her lips as, in spite of her efforts, the bundle at
+length slipped through her arms and fell with a soft thud upon the
+frozen ground.
+
+“It’s lucky for thee, Peggy,” she cried addressing herself merrily,
+“that ’tis not yesterday, else thee would have a washing on thy hands.
+Oh, if Sally could only see me! She said that I’d not reach home with
+it. Now, Mr. Bundle, is thee carrying me, or I thee? Just lie there for
+a moment, and then we’ll see who is worsted in this fray.”
+
+Removing her winter mask the better to inhale the bracing air, she
+disclosed a face flushed rosily from her exertions and dark eyes
+brimming with laughter just now at the plight in which she found
+herself. She stood for a moment breathing deeply then, readjusting the
+mask under the folds of her calash, managed with some difficulty to get
+the bundle once more within the circle of her arms, and again started
+forward. It was slow progress, but presently she found herself without
+further mishap in front of a large dwelling on the corner of Fifth and
+Chestnut Streets, standing in the midst of extensive grounds just across
+from the State House.
+
+With a sigh of relief the girl deposited the bundle on the bottom step
+of the stoop, and then, running lightly up the steps, sounded the great
+brass knocker. The door was opened almost instantly by a woman whose
+sweet face and gentle manner as well as her garb bespoke the Quakeress.
+
+“I saw thee coming, but could not get to the door before thy knock
+sounded, Peggy,” she said. “And did thee have a good time? Harriet hath
+missed thee, and in truth it hath seemed long since yesterday. And what
+is in that bundle, child? ’Tis monstrous large for thee to carry.”
+
+“’Tis linen, mother,” answered the maiden bringing the bundle into the
+hall. “It came last night to Mrs. Evans for her to make into shirts for
+the soldiers, but word came from the hospital this morning that both she
+and Sally were needed there, so I told her that, as we had our
+apportionment all made up, we would gladly do hers. And such a time to
+get here as I had. So thee missed me? ’Tis worth going away for the
+night to hear thee say that. How is Harriet?”
+
+“Wherriting over thy absence. Indeed, she seems scarce able to bear thee
+from her sight. I persuaded her to work upon the shirt, thinking to
+beguile her into something like calm. She should go out to-day if ’tis
+not too cold.”
+
+“’Twould do her good,” declared Peggy. “It is fine out. Such a relief
+from the rain and mud of the past week. And oh, mother! what does thee
+think? Mistress Reed hath twenty-two hundred shirts already that the
+ladies have made, and she hath received a letter from His Excellency,
+General Washington, concerning them. She wished that all that were not
+needed for the Pennsylvania line should be given to our near neighbor,
+New Jersey, but left it with him to do as he thought best. She told Mrs.
+Evans that she wished to see thee and others of the committee soon.
+There is to be a notice as to time. Thee does not mind this extra work,
+does thee, mother?”
+
+“Nay, Peggy. ’Twas right to bring it. ’Tis little that we who are at
+home can do for those in the field, and Mrs. Evans and Sally give too
+much time as it is to the hospital to undertake anything more. But let
+us go in to Harriet. She will be glad that thou art here.”
+
+“Have you come at last, Peggy?” cried a slender girl starting up from a
+settle which was drawn before a roaring fire as mother and daughter
+entered the living-room. “And did I hear you say something about more
+cloth for shirts? Peggy Owen, you have done nothing else since we came
+from the South two months ago but make shirts. I doubt not that every
+soldier of the rebel army hath either a shirt of your making, or a pair
+of socks of your knitting.”
+
+“That could hardly be, Harriet,” laughed Peggy. “I have made but twelve
+shirts, and just the same number of socks. As we have a few more in the
+army than that thee sees that it could not be. And how does thee feel?”
+
+“Oh, I don’t know,” spoke Harriet plaintively. She was very pale as
+though she had been ill, which was the fact, but her disorder had
+reached that stage of convalescence in which it was more mental than
+physical. “I don’t know, Peggy. I don’t believe that I’ll ever be well
+again.”
+
+“How thee talks,” chided Peggy. “Did thee finish the shirt mother gave
+thee to make? Methought that would woo thee from thy megrims.”
+
+“Yes; it is finished,” answered the other with a sigh of weariness. “I
+have just put the last stitch in it, and I’ll do no more. Heigh-ho! to
+think of Harriet Owen, daughter of William Owen, a colonel of the Welsh
+Fusileers, and a most loyal subject of His Majesty, making a shirt for
+one of the rebels. What would father think of it, I wonder?”
+
+“I think that he would rather have thee so engaged than to have thee
+give up to thy fancies, Harriet,” answered Peggy as her cousin drew the
+garment from among the pillows of the settle, and held it up to view.
+“Did thee put thy name on it? Mistress Reed wishes every woman and girl
+who makes one to embroider her name on it.”
+
+“’Tis athwart the shoulders,” said Harriet, handing the shirt to Peggy,
+a little sparkle coming into her eyes. Wonderful eyes they were: gray in
+color, surrounded by lashes of intense black, and dazzling in their
+brilliancy. “Well, Peggy?”
+
+“Oh, Harriet,” gasped the Quaker maiden, a look of vexation flashing
+across her face. “What will Mistress Reed say?”
+
+For across the shoulders of the garment was embroidered in red letters:
+“Harriet Owen—A loyal subject of the king.”
+
+“What will she say?” repeated Peggy in dismay.
+
+“Well, I am a loyal subject of the king, am I not? Doth being in
+Philadelphia instead of London or New York make me otherwise? Doth even
+making a rebel shirt change me?”
+
+“N-no,” answered Peggy. “I do not wish thee to change, Harriet; only it
+doth not seem quite, quite—— In truth, as thee is just among us to get
+well it doth not——” She paused hardly knowing how to continue.
+
+“’Tis naught to trouble over, my daughter,” spoke her mother serenely.
+“’Twill wear just as long and keep some soldier just as warm as though
+it were not there. I doubt not that it will cause some amusement in
+camp, and what is’t but a girlish piece of mischief, after all? I am
+pleased to see a spark of thy former spirit, Harriet. Thee is growing
+better.”
+
+“Thank you, madam my cousin. And I will make no more, if it please you.
+I find the stitching wearisome, and the object not much to my liking.”
+
+“Then it were better for thee to make no more,” declared the lady.
+“Though ’tis not well to lie on the settle and do naught but read. I
+think with Peggy that to go out will do thee good. Therefore, after
+dinner thou must go with her to take the shirts that are finished to
+Mistress Reed. Then a walk to the river, or to Pegg’s Run, where there
+is sure to be skating if the ice is strong enough, will do nicely for
+to-day. There are some fine skaters among us, and ’twill amuse thee to
+see them.”
+
+“I care more for assemblies and small dances than I do for sports,”
+declared Harriet. “Still, if you think best, I will go, madam my cousin.
+I get lonesome here. I am so far from my people, and from my country.
+New York was gayer when I was there. Do you not think so, Peggy? And yet
+’tis not nearly so large as this city.”
+
+“Thee has not been strong enough for much gayety,” reminded the lady
+gently. “As soon as the spring comes we will see about more diversion.
+There will be the rides, and many jaunts which the weather hath not
+permitted heretofore. But for to-day the walk must do. So be ready to go
+with Peggy as soon as the dinner is over.”
+
+“And may I read until then?” queried the girl wistfully. “The book is
+very enticing. I but laid it aside to finish the shirt.”
+
+“Yes; and Peggy may join thee, if she wishes,” said Mrs. Owen rising. “I
+like not for her to read idle tales, nor much verse when there is so
+much to be done, but the poem that thou art reading now is a noble one.
+I would like her to become familiar with it. I read it when a girl.”
+
+“What is it, Harriet?” questioned Peggy as her mother left the room.
+
+“’Tis ‘Paradise Lost,’ by Mr. John Milton,” answered her cousin, taking
+the book from a near-by table, and turning the leaves of the volume
+idly. “’Tis considered à la mode in London to be so familiar with it as
+to be able to quote passages from it on occasion. So long as I must stay
+in the colonies ’tis as well to prepare for my return.”
+
+“But thee cannot go back until the war is over,” Peggy reminded her.
+“Thee would not wish to go without thy father, would thee?”
+
+“Of course not. But the war is sure to be over soon now. Three of the
+Southern colonies are already restored to the Crown, and after Lord
+Cornwallis subjugates Virginia ’twill be an easy matter to move
+northward toward your main army. And where will your Mr. Washington be
+then—with Sir Henry Clinton attacking him from the front and Lord
+Cornwallis from the rear? Oh, it will soon be over!”
+
+“That is what thy people have said from the beginning,” remarked Peggy
+quietly. “And yet, in Fourth month, ’twill be six years since the battle
+of Lexington in Massachusetts was fought, and we are not conquered yet.”
+
+“But ’tis different now, Peggy. Your resources are drained. Even Cousin
+David, fervent patriot though he is, murmurs at the weakness of your
+central government. Part of your own soldiers mutinied last month. One
+of your best generals hath come over to us, and you have won but two
+victories in nearly three years—Paulus Hook and Stony Point. Oh, ’tis
+vastly different now. We shall see the end soon.”
+
+“Thee has forgotten King’s Mountain, which was a decided victory,” spoke
+Peggy. “And,” she added stoutly, “though I know that what thee says is
+largely true, Harriet, and that it doth indeed look dark for us, I feel
+sure that we will win eventually. Whenever it hath been the darkest some
+great event hath happened to raise our spirits so that we could go on. I
+just know that ’twill be the same now. Something will occur to give us
+hope.”
+
+“It may be,” observed Harriet carelessly, “though I see not how it can.”
+
+Peggy made no answer. She had spoken more hopefully than she felt. In
+common with other patriots she was appalled at the dark outlook with
+which 1781, the sixth year of the war, had opened. It was in truth a
+very dark hour. The American Revolution was in sore straits. It was
+dragging and grounding on the shoals of broken finances and a helpless
+government. The country had not yet recovered from the depression caused
+by Arnold’s treason. True, the plot had failed, but there was nothing
+inspiriting in a baffled treason, and there had been no fighting and no
+victories to help the people and the army to bear the season of waiting
+which lay before them. General Washington lay helpless with his army
+along the Hudson River, unable to strike a blow for the lack of men and
+supplies. The Revolution seemed to be going down in mere inaction
+through the utter helplessness of what passed for a central government.
+
+As all this passed through Peggy’s mind she leaned back in her chair,
+and gazed sadly into the fire, a hopeless feeling creeping into her
+heart in spite of herself.
+
+“If after all we should fail,” she half whispered and then sat up
+quickly as though she had been guilty of disloyalty. “This will never
+do, Peggy,” she murmured chidingly. “Fail, with General Washington at
+the head of things? What an idea! Harriet,” turning to her cousin,
+“haven’t we forgotten the poem?”
+
+“Yes,” answered Harriet who was gazing dreamily into the fire. “Don’t
+let’s read, Peggy.”
+
+“But——” began Peggy when there came the excited tones of Mrs. Owen from
+the hall greeting a guest:
+
+“And is it really thou, John? What brings thee? Peggy will be so glad to
+see thee. Come in, and welcome.”
+
+“John! John Drayton!” cried Peggy springing to her feet as the door
+opened to admit the tall form of a youth. “What brings thee from the
+South? Hast thou news? Oh, come in! I am so glad to see thee. Is thee an
+express?”
+
+“Yes, Peggy.” The youth’s clothing was bespattered with dried mud as
+though he had ridden hard and fast without time for attention to
+appearances. A handsome roquelaure[[1]] was so covered that its color
+was scarce distinguishable. There were deep circles under his eyes as
+though he were wearied yet his manner was full of subdued joyousness.
+“Yes, I am an express. I have just brought Congress despatches which
+tell that on the 17th of January, under General Morgan we met Colonel
+Tarleton at the Cowpens in South Carolina, and utterly routed him.”
+
+“Did what?” gasped Peggy, while Harriet Owen sat suddenly bolt upright.
+
+“Routed him! Wiped him out!” repeated young Drayton with a boyish laugh,
+and the old toss of his head that Peggy remembered so well. “We met
+Colonel Tarleton at the Cowpens, and we soundly whipped him.”
+
+-----
+[1] Cloak.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II—HARRIET MAKES A PRESENT
+
+
+               “Ah! never shall the land forget
+                 How gushed the life-blood of her brave—
+               Gushed, warm with hope and valor yet,
+                 Upon the soil they fought to save.”
+
+                            —“The Battle-Field,” Bryant.
+
+“It is not true,” burst from the English girl. “It can’t be. Met Colonel
+Tarleton and utterly routed him? Impossible!”
+
+“It doth indeed seem too good to be true,” cried Peggy.
+
+“Impossible or not, it hath really happened,” answered Drayton, laughing
+gleefully at their amazement. “I was detailed, at my own request, to
+bring the news to Congress. I wanted to see if you were in truth safe in
+your own home, Peggy. Another express riding at speed hath gone on to
+General Washington with the tidings. The victory hath gladdened every
+countenance and paved the way for the salvation of the country.”
+
+“Begin at the beginning and tell all and everything,” commanded Peggy.
+
+“But first let the lad make himself comfortable,” interposed Mrs. Owen.
+“He is tired and weary, I doubt not. Take his hat and cloak, Peggy,
+while I bring him a chair. Harriet, tell Sukey to hasten with the
+dinner.”
+
+“Has thee become a macaroni[[2]], John, that thee has such a fine
+cloak?” queried Peggy as she relieved Drayton of his beaver and
+roquelaure.
+
+“With these clothes?” asked the youth quizzically. For the removal of
+the cloak exposed a very shabby uniform to view. “That roquelaure became
+mine by what you might call impressment, and ‘thereby hangs a tale’
+which you shall hear anon. But now for Cowpens.”
+
+“Yes; let us hear about Cowpens,” cried Peggy eagerly. “Oh! I can scarce
+wait the telling.”
+
+“It happened after this fashion,” began Drayton settling himself with a
+sigh of satisfaction in the chair Mrs. Owen had brought. “Lord
+Cornwallis began again his march toward North Carolina with the first of
+the year. So General Greene detached Brigadier-General Morgan to harass
+the left flank of the British, and to threaten Ninety Six. We annoyed
+Cornwallis so much that he sent Colonel Tarleton with the light infantry
+and some cavalry to push us to the utmost.
+
+“Colonel Tarleton advanced up the west side of the Broad River, while
+his lordship proceeded up the east side; the plan being for him to fall
+upon us should we attempt to recross and retreat into North Carolina.
+Well, I am bound to say that Colonel Tarleton did press us hard. So much
+so that we fell back before him until we reached the Cowpens, so called
+because the cattle are here rounded up and branded. It lies about midway
+between Spartanburg and the Cherokee Ford of the Broad River. The
+position was both difficult and dangerous, and though General Morgan
+didn’t want to fight, he knew that the time had come when he had to.
+
+“Well, what did the man do as we camped there the night before the
+battle? Why, he went among the men as they sat about the camp-fires, and
+told them he was going to fight and just what he wanted them to do. The
+result was a glorious victory the next day.
+
+“We rose early and breakfasted quietly, and then prepared to fight.
+About eight o’clock the enemy came in sight and drew up in line of
+battle. No sooner were they formed than they rushed forward shouting
+like a lot of demons. ’Tis Colonel Tarleton’s way of attack, and
+ofttimes it scares the militia so that they become panic stricken, and
+break and run. This was the time when they didn’t.
+
+“The militia received the first onslaught, fired two volleys and then
+fell back, according to instructions. As they did so the British yelled
+and shouted, and advanced in a run. And then you should have seen how
+Pickens’ sharpshooters got in their work. ‘Wait until they are within
+fifty yards,’ they had been told, ‘and then fire.’ They followed their
+orders to the letter, and picked off the men with the epaulettes until
+the ranks of the British were demoralized by the loss of officers. Then
+the second line cleared, and we regulars advanced, and charged. The next
+thing any of us knew the British infantry threw away their arms, and
+began to cry for quarter.
+
+“Colonel Tarleton then ordered his dragoons to charge while he attempted
+to rally the infantry, but the rout was too complete. When he found that
+he could do nothing with the infantry, he made another struggle to get
+his cavalry to charge, hoping to retrieve the day, but his efforts
+proved fruitless. They forsook him, and went flying from the field of
+battle. Colonel William Washington pursued them until evening, and on
+his return drove before him a number of prisoners which he had collected
+on the route.
+
+“There were six hundred men captured; ten officers and more than a
+hundred men killed, but Tarleton, I am sorry to say, escaped. All the
+cannon, arms, equipage, music and everything fell into our hands, while
+our loss was but twelve killed and sixty wounded. Oh, I tell you we were
+jubilant! We crossed the river, making a détour to escape his lordship,
+and brought our prisoners and booty safe to a junction with the main
+army. General Greene was delighted over the victory, for the destruction
+of Colonel Tarleton’s force will cripple Cornwallis severely. After a
+few more such victories I think his lordship will realize that he no
+longer hath a Gates to deal with.”
+
+“Is it not wonderful?” broke in Peggy. “Oh, I knew that something would
+happen soon to cheer us up! It hath always been so from the beginning of
+the Revolution. There was Trenton in ‘76, just when every one thought
+the country lost; and Saratoga in ’77, when our own dear city was in the
+hands of the British. Whenever it hath been so dark that it seemed as
+though we could not press forward something hath always occurred to
+renew our courage. I can see it all!” she cried enthusiastically. “The
+swamps, and the trees with the marksmen hidden behind them; the river,
+and the palmettos; the swift rush of the soldiers through the trees, and
+then the crash of arms, and victory!”
+
+“I thought you were a Quaker,” sneered Harriet. “Do Friends so delight
+in warfare?”
+
+“But I am a patriot too,” cried Peggy. “I can’t help but feel glad that
+we were victorious, although I am not sorry that Colonel Tarleton
+escaped, as thee is, John. He was so good to me. Had it not been for him
+I would not have been home.”
+
+“It is utterly impossible,” came from Harriet again. “Colonel Tarleton
+never did meet defeat, and I don’t believe that he ever will. ’Tis some
+quidnunc story got up to keep the rebels fighting. And if it were true,
+you are cruel to rejoice when father may have been in the action. Or
+Clifford.”
+
+“But the Welsh Fusileers, thy father’s regiment, stay always with Lord
+Cornwallis, do they not?” queried Peggy, whose residence among the
+British had taught her much concerning such matters. “And as for thy
+brother, Clifford, thee does not know where he is.”
+
+“No; I don’t know,” answered the English girl tearfully. “I would I did.
+But he might have been there. He is somewhere in these revolted
+colonies, and it’s cruel to be so glad when he might be among those who
+are killed, or wounded.” She flung herself back among the pillows of the
+settle as she finished speaking, and gave way to a passion of tears.
+
+“But you would rejoice at an English victory, Mistress Harriet,” spoke
+Lieutenant Drayton in surprise. The Harriet he remembered would have
+scorned to betray such weakness. “We do not exult over those who are
+slain or wounded, but we do delight in the fact that liberty is advanced
+whenever we win a battle. And we care for the wounded, even though they
+are foes. Also,” he added, his brow darkening, “we give quarter, and
+your people do not.”
+
+“’Tis a great price to pay for freedom,” remarked Mrs. Owen sadly. “And
+yet there are times when it can be obtained in no other way.”
+
+“But to—to say that they r-ran,” sobbed Harriet. “The British wouldn’t
+run.”
+
+“Oh, wouldn’t they?” observed the lieutenant dryly. “These ran like
+foxes when the hounds are after them. And they took to cover worse than
+any militia I ever saw. But there!” he concluded. “What doth it matter?
+We whipped them badly.”
+
+“Harriet hath been ill, John,” explained Peggy in a low tone. “Thee must
+not mind what she says.”
+
+“I don’t,” returned he good-naturedly. “There was never much love lost
+between us, as she knows, though I am sorry that she hath been ill. Are
+you as busy as ever, Peggy?”
+
+“The dinner is ready, John,” spoke Mrs. Owen as Sukey came to the door
+with the announcement. “Thee must be hungry. Come now, and eat. And thee
+must make thy home with us while in the city. It would give us great
+pleasure.”
+
+“Thank you, madam. I will accept gladly, though it will be but for a day
+or two. There will be return despatches from Congress to General Greene.
+I must go back as soon as the gentlemen have finished with me. I wait
+upon them this afternoon.”
+
+“Then thee won’t be able to go with the girls to see the skating,”
+remarked the lady leading the way to the dining-room.
+
+“If they finish with me soon I will join them,” he answered. “My! how
+good this table looks! ’Tis not often that I sit down to a meal like
+this.”
+
+“I wonder how you poor soldiers can fight so well when you have so
+little to eat,” she said soberly. “’Tis in my mind often.”
+
+“Perhaps we fight the better for being hungry,” he returned lightly. “We
+have to get filled up on something, you know. Supplies are in truth hard
+to come by. Clothing as well as food. General Greene went before the
+legislatures of all the states he passed through on his way South to
+plead that men, clothing, food and equipment might be forthcoming for
+the campaign. There is woeful remissness somewhere. Why, some of our
+poor fellows haven’t even a shirt to their backs.”
+
+“And I have made twelve myself since I came back,” exclaimed Peggy
+proudly. “And mother as many more. Mistress Reed hath twenty-two hundred
+to send to the Pennsylvania line now.”
+
+“No wonder ‘Dandy Wayne’ is so proud of his men,” sighed the youth with
+a certain wistfulness in his voice. “The Pennsylvania line is the best
+dressed of any of the Continentals, and all because the women of the
+state look after their soldiers. Would that the other states would do as
+well!”
+
+“Lieutenant Drayton,” spoke Harriet suddenly. She had quite recovered
+her composure by this time. “Peggy did not tell you that I have made a
+shirt too.”
+
+“Not for the patriots?” he asked amazed.
+
+“Yes; for the rebels,” she replied.
+
+“Come!” he cried gayly. “You are improving. We will have a good patriot
+out of you yet.”
+
+“Perhaps,” she responded graciously, a roguish gleam coming into her
+eyes. “Are you in need of shirts, lieutenant?”
+
+Drayton’s face flushed, and then he laughed.
+
+“I am not as badly off as some of our poor fellows, Mistress Harriet,
+but they would not come amiss. Why?”
+
+“Because,” said she speaking deliberately, “if you will accept it, I
+should like to give you the shirt that I made.”
+
+“To give it to me?” he queried astonished. He had always known that
+Harriet disliked him, and therefore could not understand this sudden
+mark of favor. “To give it to me?”
+
+“Yes; to you. Will you promise to wear it if I give it to you?”
+
+“Oh, Harriet,” came from Peggy reproachfully, but John Drayton answered
+with a puzzled look:
+
+“I shall most certainly wear the garment if you give it to me, mistress,
+and feel highly complimented in so doing.”
+
+“I will hold you to your word, sir,” cried Harriet. With that she ran
+out of the room but soon returned with the garment in question. “There!”
+she said holding it up so that he could read the embroidered
+inscription. “See to what you have pledged yourself, John Drayton.”
+
+A twinkle came into his eyes, but he took the shirt from her, holding it
+tightly as he said:
+
+“I shall abide by my word. And what think you the British would say if
+they saw what is here embroidered? This, mistress: ‘That ’tis small
+wonder the rebels are successful when even our own women help to keep
+them in supplies.’”
+
+“Oh, give it back,” she exclaimed in consternation. “I did not think of
+that.”
+
+“Nay; a bargain is a bargain.” Drayton folded up the shirt with a
+decided gesture. “You were trying to put up a ‘take in’ on me, but it
+hath redounded on yourself. Stand by your word, mistress.”
+
+“He hath thee, Harriet,” cried Peggy laughing.
+
+“I don’t care,” answered Harriet tossing her head. “’Tis across the
+shoulders, and if ever I hear of its being seen I shall know that he
+turned his back to the foe.”
+
+“Then you have heard the last of it, for that I will never do,” said the
+lad solemnly.
+
+-----
+[2] Macaroni—a dandy.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III—A GLIMPSE OF CLIFFORD
+
+
+                  “They rose in dark and evil days
+                    To right their native land;
+                  They kindled here a living blaze
+                    That nothing shall withstand.
+
+                       *     *     *     *     *
+
+                  “Then here’s their memory—may it be
+                    For us a guiding light,
+                  To cheer our strife for liberty,
+                    And teach us to unite.”
+
+                                  —John Kells Ingram.
+
+When at length the two maidens started forth in the early afternoon they
+found that the news of the victory at the Cowpens was upon every tongue.
+The streets were filled with an eager, joyous crowd of people, all
+discussing the intelligence with mingled emotions of incredulity and
+delight. Slumbering patriotism awoke to new ardor, and despairing hearts
+thrilled anew with hope. From the depths of discouragement the pendulum
+swung to the other extreme, and all sorts of brilliant achievements were
+prophesied for the army in the South under Greene.
+
+“How soberly they take the news,” observed Harriet as they passed a
+group of men who were quietly discussing the event. “See how gravely,
+almost sadly, those men are talking. In London we make a great ado when
+our soldiers win a victory.”
+
+“But those are Friends, Harriet. See, thee can tell by their drab
+clothes and low, broad-brimmed beavers. And being such are therefore
+neutral. Neutrals do not rejoice at a Continental victory any more
+than—than some other people,” she added with roguish insinuation. “Those
+who are not of the sect are hilarious enough. Of a truth it doth seem as
+though their gladness verged on the unseemly.”
+
+“That’s just it,” said the other accusingly. “You, and I doubt not many
+others in this city of Penn, think the least bit of exuberance a sin.”
+
+“It hath not been so of late, Harriet. Indeed it doth seem as though,
+since thy people held the city, that we would never regain our old
+peacefulness.”
+
+“I liked New York better than this,” went on the English girl peevishly.
+“There was so much more gayety.”
+
+“But we are considered the more intellectual,” spoke Peggy quickly, who
+could not bear to hear the least aspersion against her beloved city.
+“’Tis often commented upon by those who come among us. Shall we turn
+into High Street, Harriet? Or does thee prefer to keep down Chestnut?”
+
+“High Street by all means, Peggy. I think it would be the finest street
+in the world if it were not for the markets in the middle of it.”
+
+“Does thee?” cried Peggy much pleased. “Why, I thought thee didn’t like
+Philadelphia?”
+
+“I do like the city. The streets are so broad and regular, and these
+footways are like those we have in London. ’Tis the people that are not
+to my liking.” The girl sighed.
+
+For a moment Peggy could not answer for indignation; then, choking back
+a crushing retort, she replied sagely:
+
+“The people are well enough, Harriet. ’Tis thy feeling which is not
+right. Thee certainly has the megrims to-day.”
+
+“Is not that Mr. Morris’s house?” asked Harriet as they reached the
+southeast corner of High and Front Streets.
+
+“Yes,” replied Peggy gazing mournfully at the mansion indicated. “’Twas
+there also that General Arnold lived when he had charge of the city. I
+went there to one of his teas, Harriet. The city rang with his prowess
+at that time. Next to General Washington I liked him best of any of our
+generals, though I like not to speak of him now. Thy general, Sir
+William Howe, lived there when thy people held Philadelphia.”
+
+“Ah!” said Harriet surveying the residence more intently. “So that is
+where he lived, is it? ’Tis a fine dwelling.”
+
+“Mr. Morris hath made many improvements since he bought it, though it
+hath always been considered one of the best in the city,” Peggy informed
+her.
+
+“He is very rich, isn’t he, Peggy?”
+
+“He is said to be, Harriet, and is, I doubt not. He hath such great
+skill in financial matters that ’tis no wonder. The Congress hath put
+him in charge of the nation’s finances, I hear, and many hope that he
+will put our money upon a firm basis. He hath already been of great
+service to the patriots in advancing money, and he hath advised many of
+our people concerning investments. ’Tis owing to him that mother hath
+prospered of late,” concluded the girl warmly. “See the vessels,
+Harriet.”
+
+They had turned now into Front Street, and stopped to look at the broad
+river filled with ice-floes. Out of the long length of the street upward
+of two hundred quays opened, forming so many views terminated by vessels
+of different sizes. There were three hundred at the time in the harbor
+disputing possession with the huge cakes of floating ice.
+
+“And when the British left in ’78 they left us not one bark,” went on
+Peggy after they had stood for a moment in silence.
+
+“I wonder,” spoke Harriet musingly, “I wonder why England doth not send
+a great fleet over here to ravage this entire seaboard? If all these
+large towns could be so attacked at one time the revolted colonies would
+be conquered at once, and an end put to the rebellion.”
+
+“It would not conquer us,” declared Peggy stoutly. “I have heard some
+say that with General Washington at their head they would retire beyond
+the mountains, and fight from there. Thee can never conquer us,
+Harriet.”
+
+Harriet made no reply, and they resumed the walk toward Poole’s Bridge.
+A throng of promenaders, skaters and sliders filled the banks and glided
+over the smooth ice of Pegg’s Run, as the extensive marsh which lay
+beyond the high table-land north of Callowhill Street was called.
+
+This high waste ground had some occasional slopes down which some
+hundreds of boys were coasting. The whole area was a great ice pond on
+which it seemed as though all the skating population of Philadelphia had
+congregated. The city had long been preëminent in the sport. At this
+time her skaters were considered the most expert and graceful in the
+world, and the girls soon became absorbed in watching them as they
+mingled together and darted about, here and there.
+
+“Are there none but boys and men?” questioned Harriet presently.
+
+“’Tis not esteemed delicate for females to skate,” Peggy informed her.
+“Though,” she added lowering her voice instinctively, “we girls of the
+Social Select Circle used to slip off where none could see, and practice
+it. Sally Evans got so skilled that she excelled in the ‘High Dutch,’
+and I could cut my name on the ice, but alas for Betty Williams. She
+could hardly stand on her skates, and we were always having to help her
+up from a tumble.”
+
+“Is thee talking about me, Peggy?” demanded a voice, and Peggy gave a
+little cry of welcome as she turned to find Betty Williams standing
+behind her. “Hasn’t thee anything better to do than to tell of thy
+friends’ failings? And what is this I hear? That the express from the
+Cowpens is staying at thy house? Is he friend of thine? What luck thee
+has, Peggy.”
+
+“Thou shalt come and meet him for thyself, Betty. Yes; he is an old
+friend, Lieutenant John Drayton. Surely thee remembers hearing me speak
+of him?”
+
+“A lieutenant? Charmante! I dote on army men,” cried Betty rapturously.
+“I remember now about him. Does thee know him also, Harriet?”
+
+“Yes,” answered Harriet curling her lip. “He is a pretty fellow enough,
+and will never swing for the lack of a tongue. Lieutenant Drayton is no
+favorite of mine, though Peggy and her mother are fond of him.”
+
+“Yes; mother and I are fond of him,” spoke Peggy with some sharpness,
+quick to resent a slur against one of her friends. “Perhaps he is
+deficient in the court manners to which my cousin hath been accustomed,
+but he treats even an enemy with courtesy, and thee has had no cause to
+complain of him, Harriet. Would that he could say as much for thee.”
+
+“Where was his courtesy when I asked him to return that shirt?” demanded
+Harriet. “A true courtier would not have kept it after I had expressed a
+wish for its return.”
+
+“Thee should not have presented it if thee did not wish him to keep it.”
+
+“What ever are you girls talking about?” demanded Betty with eager
+inquisitiveness. “Tell me all anent the matter. What shirt? Tell me this
+minute else I will perish with curiosity. That is, if ’tis no secret.
+
+“Oh!” she cried merrily as with some laughter and many details both
+Harriet and Peggy unfolded the matter of the shirt. “Oh, Harriet! what a
+rout! I blame thee not for not liking him. How he discomfited thee! I’m
+so anxious to meet him. Does thee know Robert Dale, Harriet? We girls
+have always esteemed him the very nicest boy in the world. By the way,
+Peggy, father wrote that Robert hath been put in General Lafayette’s
+division. The Select Corps ’tis called. ’Tis monstrous distinction.”
+
+“How?” asked Harriet. “I know him not though it seems as though I
+should, I have heard so much anent him. How is the Select Corps
+distinctive?”
+
+“As though thee did not know,” cried Betty incredulously. “Had I spent
+as much time with both armies as thee and Peggy have there would be
+naught about anything military that I did not know. But, for fear that
+the Select Corps is the one thing lacking in thy knowledge of camp, I
+will tell thee that its members are taken from the whole army for the
+active part of a campaign. The Select Corps is always in advance of the
+main army, and has the right to make the first attack on the enemy. ’Tis
+of vast distinction to be of it, and Robert must have proved himself
+valorous else he would not have been honored by being placed in it.”
+
+“But ’tis a position of danger as well as honor, Betty,” remarked Peggy.
+
+“If Mr. Washington does no more fighting than he hath done for the past
+few years your Robert Dale will be in no danger,” observed Harriet, who
+was certainly in a bad mood for the day.
+
+“Oh, as to that,” retorted Betty airily, “we manage to get in a victory
+often enough to keep up our spirits. Really, Harriet, I do wish thee
+could meet Robert.”
+
+“And I wish that you both could meet my brother, Clifford,” cried
+Harriet. “Why, none of the youths in the rebel camp at Middlebrook could
+compare with him in looks. He is so handsome, and noble, and brave. Oh,
+I do wish that I could see him!” she ended, a pathetic quaver coming
+into her voice.
+
+“Thee has not seen him since thee came to America, has thee?” asked
+Betty. Peggy, whose gentle heart was touched by the feeling her cousin
+exhibited, forgot how trying she had been, and pressed her hand
+tenderly.
+
+“No, Betty. He left home soon after father came to join General Gage in
+Boston. When we were in New York City father had Sir Henry Clinton to go
+over the rosters of the different regiments to see if we could locate
+him, but we could find no trace of him. I did not mind so much until
+since I have been ill, but now I want to see him so much.”
+
+“Does he look like Cousin William, Harriet?” asked Peggy.
+
+“No; he is more like your father than mine. Father says that Cousin
+David is like my grandfather, and Clifford is the living representative
+of the picture of grandfather.”
+
+“If he is like father he must be all that thee claims for him,” spoke
+Peggy warmly. “I should dearly like to see him, Harriet, and perhaps
+thee will hear of him soon. If he is in this country anywhere with the
+British army thee will surely hear of him in time. Don’t grieve.”
+
+“If thee does find him I hope that he will come to Philadelphia,”
+laughed Betty, who had put up her hair and adopted young lady airs. “I
+like nice boys, be they English or American.”
+
+“Or French,” put in Peggy slyly. “I’ve heard that thee takes a lesson
+each morning from one of the aides of Monsieur de la Luzerne, the French
+minister. Thee needs to be dealt with, Betty.”
+
+“Peggy Owen, Sally hath been telling thee tales out of school,” cried
+Betty, her face flushing. “When did thee see her?”
+
+“A hit! A hit!” laughed Peggy. “How thee mantles, Betty. Know then that
+I stayed with Sallie last night, and thereby increased my knowledge as
+to several matters. She said——”
+
+“I must be going,” uttered Betty hastily. “Good-bye, girls. Come and see
+me, Harriet, but leave thy cousin at home.”
+
+She darted away before Peggy could call out the merry retort that rose
+to her lips. Then the maiden turned to Harriet.
+
+“And ’twould be wise for us to go too, Harriet,” she said. “The air
+begins to grow chill, and thee must not take cold. See! many of the
+skaters and promenaders are leaving, and soon there will be none left. I
+did not know that ’twas so late. Is thee tired?”
+
+“No; I believe that the walk hath done me good,” answered Harriet, who
+did look better. “Still I feel a little cold. Let us walk fast, Peggy.”
+
+Recrossing the bridge they left the gay throng and started briskly down
+the narrow footway of Front Street. Suddenly the clatter of hoofs was
+heard, and the maidens turned to see a party of American horse
+approaching from the direction of Frankford. They were riding at speed,
+and the girls drew close to the curb of the walk to see them pass. As
+the dragoons drew near they saw that they were escorting a number of
+British prisoners.
+
+“Hath there been another battle?” asked Harriet, growing pale.
+
+“I think not,” answered Peggy. “There is always an express to tell of
+it, if there hath been, before the prisoners come. These are not from
+the Cowpens, Harriet. They could not be, and come from that direction.”
+
+“True,” said Harriet. “I wonder if the main army hath engaged with our
+troops? Oh, I like not to see our men made prisoners!”
+
+Peggy made no reply, and in silence the two watched the troopers. As
+they came opposite to the place where the maidens stood one of the
+prisoners, a young fellow, leaned over and said something to the trooper
+next him. Then, with a light laugh he turned his face full upon them,
+and lifted his hat with jaunty grace.
+
+As he did so Harriet sprang forward with an amazed cry:
+
+“Clifford! Clifford! Clifford!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV—A STRANGE PRESENTIMENT
+
+
+                                                “He alone
+                Is victor who stays not for any doom
+              Foreshadowed; utters neither sigh nor moan;
+                Death stricken, strikes for the right,
+              Nor counts his life his own.”
+
+                        —Atlantic Monthly Calendar, 1908.
+
+An exclamation of intense astonishment burst from the young fellow’s
+lips, and he drew rein quickly. If it was his intention to come to them
+he was not allowed to carry it out, for at this moment the leader of the
+troopers gave a sharp command, and the whole party swept onward at
+increased speed.
+
+“Clifford! Clifford!” called Harriet again and again; but the youth gave
+no further heed, and the horsemen were soon beyond the reach of her
+voice.
+
+“’Twas Clifford,” she cried turning to Peggy with a sob. “Oh, Peggy,
+what shall I do? He is a prisoner.”
+
+“Is thee sure that it was he, Harriet?” questioned Peggy who had been
+amazed at what had taken place.
+
+“Did I not see him? And did you not hear him speak? I could not tell
+what he said. Could you? He is a prisoner. I must get to him. Come! we
+must go faster, Peggy, so that we can see where they take him.”
+
+By this time the dragoons had turned into one of the cross streets, and
+when the girls reached the place of turning they had passed out of
+sight.
+
+“I wish Cousin David were here. He would know what to do,” cried Harriet
+greatly excited. “Couldn’t we send for him, Peggy?”
+
+“Father couldn’t leave the army now, Harriet, as thee knows. Besides, it
+would take long to send for him, and thy brother might be gone before he
+could get here. We must find John. He will know what to do.”
+
+“Then let us hurry, hurry,” exclaimed the English girl clasping her
+hands convulsively together.
+
+Lieutenant Drayton was just ascending the steps of the Owens’ dwelling
+as they reached Fourth Street, but catching sight of them he ran down
+the stoop to join them.
+
+“The Congress hath but this moment finished with me,” he said, “so that
+it was impossible for me to come to Pegg’s Run. Was the skating fine? I
+should like to have seen it, and to have taken a turn—— Why! what hath
+happened?” he broke off, all at once becoming aware of their
+perturbation. “You both seem somewhat upset.”
+
+“’Tis Harriet’s brother,” explained Peggy seeing that her cousin was
+unable to speak. “A party of American horse came from the North bringing
+in some prisoners, and Harriet saw her brother, Clifford, among them.
+She called to him, but they would not let him stop. They turned into
+Arch Street, and we lost sight of them.”
+
+“When did it happen, Peggy?”
+
+“But now, John. Just as we were leaving Pegg’s Run. Could thee find
+where they went?”
+
+“Oh, Lieutenant Drayton, will you find him for me?” entreated Harriet.
+
+“I will try, Mistress Harriet. If he is to stay in the city, he will be
+put in one of the jails. If he is to go on to the interior the party
+would stop at one of the inns for the night, as ’tis now too late in the
+day to go further. The thing to do will be to go to the jails, and if he
+be not there, to make the round of the inns. Be not over-anxious. If he
+is to be found, and surely ’twill be an easy matter, I will soon bring
+you word of it.”
+
+He lifted his beaver as he finished speaking, and left them. The two
+girls went slowly into the dwelling, and reported the affair to Mrs.
+Owen.
+
+“John will find him, Harriet,” said the lady soothingly. “That is, of
+course, if he stays in the city, and as the lad says, the troopers will
+of a certainty stop here for the night. Try to occupy thyself until his
+return. He will do everything he can to find thy brother. Should he be
+found then we will try to get his release in some manner; but now busy
+thyself about something. Thee is too much agitated, and will make
+thyself ill again.”
+
+“I know not what to do,” objected Harriet sinking into her favorite seat
+on the settle before the fire. “What shall I do, Peggy?”
+
+“Read to me from that poem, Harriet,” suggested Peggy, bringing the
+volume to her cousin. “Thee was to do that this morning when John came
+with news of the battle. ’Twill make the time pass more quickly.”
+
+“I would rather talk,” said Harriet, turning the leaves of the book
+rapidly. “I do not believe that a poem will content me. A tale would be
+more enthralling. Still there are some beautiful passages, and I will
+try some of them. Here is one that is considered one of the finest in
+the poem. Father read it to me once.”
+
+With a voice rendered more expressive than usual by reason of her
+unwonted emotion Harriet read that wonderful and pathetic invocation to
+light with which the blind poet begins the third canto of his immortal
+poem:
+
+  “‘Hail, holy Light, offspring of heaven first-born.’”
+
+She was fond of poetry, and fond also of reading it aloud; so that soon
+her attention was caught by the musical cadence of the verse. Peggy
+watched her, amazed at the transition that now took place. She who had
+been so agitated and anxious a few moments before was absorbed by the
+rhythm of the poem. Her eyes kindled; her cheeks flushed, and her
+accents became sonorous:
+
+                  “‘Thus with the year
+  Seasons return, but not to me returns
+  Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn,
+  Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer’s rose,
+  Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine;
+  But cloud instead and ever during dark
+  Surrounds me——’
+
+“Oh!” screamed the girl, suddenly letting the book fall to the floor as
+she pressed her hands to her eyes. “The dark! The dark!”
+
+“What is it?” cried Peggy running to her. “What is the matter, Harriet?”
+
+“Oh, I shall be blind! I shall be blind,” broke from Harriet in agonized
+tones. “I know I shall. It came to me just now. Oh, Peggy! Peggy!”
+
+“What a fancy!” cried Peggy giving her a little shake. “Thee is all
+upset, Harriet. Mother must give thee some Jesuits’ Bark.”
+
+“But I shall be,” moaned the girl. “I know that it will happen.”
+
+“Thy sight will dim with age, of course,” said Peggy in a matter-of-fact
+tone. “Just as mine will, and as mother’s hath already done. Then we
+will both wear bridge glasses, unless we use the spectacles with wire
+supports which Dr. Franklin hath invented. And thou wilt look at me over
+them; like this.”
+
+She tucked her chin down on her breast, and looked at her cousin so
+drolly that Harriet laughed through her tears.
+
+“That’s better,” approved Peggy. “Thine eyes are all right, Harriet. I
+see naught wrong with them save that they are much prettier than mine;
+which is not at all to my liking.”
+
+Again Harriet laughed, well pleased with the compliment.
+
+“I do believe that you are right, Peggy,” she said. “I am full of
+fancies. But oh! you don’t know how I felt for a few moments.” She
+shivered, and passed one hand lightly over her eyes. “I’ve read that
+passage often, but never before did it affect me so. I could see the
+dark, the ‘ever-during dark,’ about me; and it came to me that I should
+be blind.”
+
+“Don’t talk of it. Don’t even think about it,” said Peggy soothingly.
+“As I said, thee is all upset over thy brother, and therefore is prone
+to imagine many things. ’Tis lowness of mind that causes it. Now while
+we wait for John, we will make mother let us get the supper. Thou shalt
+make the chocolate, Harriet. In that thee excels.”
+
+And in this manner, talking to her as though she were a little child,
+Peggy beguiled her cousin into forgetfulness of her strange foreboding.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V—A DAY OF NOTE
+
+
+             “Great were the hearts, and strong the minds,
+               Of those, who framed, in high debate,
+             The immortal league of love, that binds
+               Our fair, broad Empire, State with State.
+
+                  *     *     *     *     *
+
+             “That noble race is gone; the suns
+               Of years have risen, and set;
+             But the bright links those chosen ones
+               So strongly forged, are brighter yet.”
+
+It was late that night when Drayton returned.
+
+“No,” he said in answer to Harriet’s eager questioning. “I found him
+not. I went to both the old and the new jails, but he was in neither. In
+fact, no prisoners have been received for some days. I then made the
+rounds of the taverns, but no such party was stopping at any of them.
+There was but one trace to be found: some of the loungers about the inns
+said that a party of horse was seen in the late afternoon riding toward
+the lower ferry. I will inquire in that direction to-morrow. ’Tis not
+customary to travel at night with prisoners, unless the need is urgent.
+I wonder that a stop for the night was not made in the city.”
+
+The dragoons had passed through the city, as the lieutenant found the
+next day; and, crossing the Schuylkill at Gray’s Ferry had gone on to
+the Blue Bell Tavern, putting up there for the night. They were up and
+away early the next morning.
+
+“Then how shall I find him?” queried Harriet as Drayton imparted this
+information to her. “Lieutenant, you are an officer in the army; tell me
+how to find my brother. I ought not to ask this of you, I know. I
+haven’t always been kind or pleasant, but if you will only help me in
+this, I’ll—I’ll——Peggy, help me to plead with him.”
+
+“There is no need to plead, mistress,” responded he quickly. “If I can
+be of service to you, it will be a pleasure. I will do what I can to
+find him. If he is an officer the task will be much easier. If I hear
+aught concerning him I will send you word at once. ’Twas said at the
+Blue Bell that the party was for the South, and if so, it may be that I
+shall overtake it. I leave to-morrow if the despatches of Congress are
+ready.”
+
+“So soon?” exclaimed Peggy in dismay. “Why, thee came but yesterday,
+John.”
+
+“A soldier’s time is never his own, Peggy. It hath been delightful to
+have even these few days. After the hard marching of the past weeks ’tis
+like an oasis in the desert to tarry in a real home. From all I hear we
+are likely to be on the move for some time to come. ’Twas openly talked
+in camp, before I left, that ’twas our general’s plan to draw my Lord
+Cornwallis as far from his base of supplies as possible. If that be true
+we shall do naught but march for some time to come. This is a good rest
+for me.”
+
+“If thy stay is so short then we must see that ’tis made as pleasant as
+possible,” declared Mrs. Owen. And from that moment the three, for
+Harriet threw off her depression and was once more the charming girl
+that she had been at Middlebrook, devoted themselves so successfully to
+his entertainment that Drayton declared that it was well that he had a
+horse to carry him away; for he would never leave of his own volition.
+
+“It hath been delightful,” he reiterated as he was about to depart. “I
+doubt that ’tis good for me to have so much pampering. ’Twill give me a
+desire to play the messenger at all times, and make me long for comforts
+that are not to be found in camp, or on the march. You shall hear from
+me soon, Mistress Harriet. Even though I should not overtake your
+brother and the dragoons still you shall have word of it.”
+
+With that he was gone. Life with its duties resumed its accustomed
+routine at the Owens’ dwelling with the exception that Harriet seemed
+much improved. The interest in her brother was the thing needful to
+arouse her, and she daily gained in strength. The two horses, Star and
+Fleetwood, were brought from the stables, and the girls with Tom as
+groom again rode whenever the weather was pleasant. And so a week
+passed. February was folded away in the book of years, and March was
+upon them; but if Drayton had overtaken the horsemen on his way South
+they had received no word.
+
+“How warm the sun is,” exclaimed Harriet as she and Peggy were returning
+from a long ride on the first of the month. “Were it not that I might
+receive word from Lieutenant Drayton about Clifford, I would suggest
+that we turn about and go on to Chestnut Hill. It would be pleasant to
+be out all afternoon.”
+
+“Nay,” demurred Peggy. “The distance to Chestnut Hill makes it not to be
+thought of. Besides, dinner is at two, and mother wished us to be home
+in time for that. Though it is pleasant.”
+
+It was pleasant. The storm month had begun his sway with the mildness of
+the proverbial lamb. The air held just enough of keenness to be bracing,
+and the sky was blue with the blueness of May. There was the promise of
+spring in the woods. The almost dead silences of winter had disappeared.
+The song of the occasional robin was heard; the flutter of wings, and
+the almost silent noises of the trees and thickets, evidenced in the
+swelling buds of the bare branches.
+
+The Germantown road was a favorite ride with them, and this day they
+stopped often to exclaim over the spaciousness of the landscape which
+the leafless trees admitted to their view.
+
+“Do you think that I will hear to-day, Peggy?” asked her cousin
+wistfully after one of these stops.
+
+“I know not, Harriet. John will let thee know as soon as he can, for he
+promised. I would not think so much anent it, if I were thee. What is
+the saying? ‘A watched pot never boils.’ Is not that it?”
+
+“I can’t help it, Peggy. If Clifford were not a prisoner I would not
+care so much. Just as soon as I find where he is I must try to secure
+his release. I know that Sir Henry Clinton would get him exchanged if I
+should ask it. I will write to him.”
+
+Instantly Peggy was troubled. She feared Harriet’s activities. The
+council of the state was alert and watchful, and would tolerate no
+communications of any sort with the enemy. In fact, several women, wives
+and relatives of Tories in New York and other points within the British
+lines, had recently been arrested for this very fault. So it was a very
+grave face the maiden turned to her cousin.
+
+“Harriet,” she said, “does thee remember the trouble that we got into at
+Middlebrook by trying to pass letters to Sir Henry? Thee must not try to
+pass any letters here.”
+
+“But this is different, Peggy,” protested the other girl eagerly. “I’m
+not going to do any spy work. I learned a lesson at that time that I
+shall never forget. You have my word, Peggy. I shall not break it. The
+only thing I should write would be but a line to ask for Clifford’s
+exchange. There could be no harm in that.”
+
+“If thee sends a letter of any sort, Harriet, thee must first take it to
+Mr. Joseph Reed, the president of the council. If he sees no objection
+to it then he will send it through for thee. If thee does not care to go
+to him, mother would attend to it for thee. ’Twould be best to leave the
+matter with her in any case. She would do everything that could be
+done.”
+
+“But the army is not here,” expostulated Harriet, who evidently had the
+matter strongly in mind. “I see no reason why I should submit my letter
+to Mr. Reed. There could be naught to report of war matters from
+Philadelphia. ’Tis not as it was at Middlebrook.”
+
+“Is it not?” queried Peggy. “Why, Harriet, the enemy want all knowledge
+that can be had of the movements of Congress. Philadelphia is the center
+of the government. Whatever transpires here is of great interest to Sir
+Henry. Therefore, the rules regarding letters are rigid. Thee must not
+attempt it, Harriet.”
+
+“Well, well, have it your own way,” returned Harriet lightly. “I think
+you make too much of such a small thing, Peggy, but the affair can be
+arranged when Clifford’s whereabouts become known. So we will say no
+more about it.”
+
+There was nothing that could be said, so Peggy held her peace; but she
+thought deeply. She would tell her mother, she resolved, and they would
+see that no communication was had with the British that was not through
+the regular channels. But what a responsibility these English cousins
+were, she mused, and so musing sighed heavily.
+
+“Wherefore the sigh, cousin mine?” quizzed Harriet, bending low over her
+saddle to look into Peggy’s eyes. “Is it because you are afraid of what
+I shall do? Fie, for shame! ’Tis you who are beset by fancies now. Fear
+nothing, Peggy. I shall bring no further trouble upon you. Is that what
+you were worrying about?”
+
+“Yes,” confessed Peggy frankly. “It was, Harriet.”
+
+“Then think of it no more. Have I not said that no trouble shall come to
+you? And there shall not. But a truce to seriousness. ’Tis much too fine
+for worry. Is not that a robin redbreast, Peggy?”
+
+“Yes, Harriet. I have noticed several since we began our ride. ’Twill
+soon be spring. And it should be; for it is the first of Third month.”
+
+And so the topic of the letter was put aside for the time, and the
+maidens rode on through the trees chatting pleasantly. Suddenly the dull
+boom of a cannon smote their ears.
+
+“A battle! A battle!” cried Harriet excitedly as they drew rein to
+listen. “Oh, what if our people have attacked the city?”
+
+“Nay,” spoke Peggy. “’Tis more like that there is something to
+celebrate. Listen! Does thee not hear bells?”
+
+“I wonder what it can be?” exclaimed Harriet. “I hope that ’tis not
+another victory for the rebels.”
+
+“Let us hasten, Harriet. We can find out in no other way.” Peggy called
+to Tom, and they set forward at speed.
+
+The noise became a din as they entered the city. Cannon boomed from the
+shipping on the Delaware, and artillery thundered on the land. All the
+bells in the city were ringing. Hoarse shouts filled the air, and upon
+every side there were manifestations of joy.
+
+“Oh, what can it be?” exclaimed Peggy with some excitement. “I wish we
+knew.”
+
+A short, thick-set little man, of dark, swarthy complexion was just
+crossing Front Street toward one of the quays as she spoke. He turned as
+he heard the exclamation, and came toward them.
+
+“If you do not know, lassie, let me tell you,” he said with a deep
+obeisance. “’Tis a great day. A great day, and will go down in history
+as such. Know then that this morning the last state ratified the
+Articles of Confederation, and by that act the Union becomes perpetual.”
+
+“Have they done it at last?” cried she. “Why, it hath been debated and
+discussed so long that we feared ’twould never happen. I did not know
+’twas to occur to-day.”
+
+“Nor did any of us,” returned he genially. “I fancy that it took even
+the Congress by surprise. ’Twas announced at noon, by a discharge of
+artillery, the signal agreed upon. I am going now to add my quota to the
+rejoicing by firing a _feu de joie_ from my ship yonder.”
+
+He indicated a frigate beautifully decorated with a variety of streamers
+anchored just off the quay.
+
+“The ‘Ariel,’” read Harriet, at which Peggy opened her eyes wide.
+
+“If that is thy ship then thee must be that John Paul Jones who fought
+that wonderful battle with the ‘Serapis’ two years ago,” ejaculated she.
+For the “Ariel” was the vessel which was given that gallant officer in
+place of the “Bon Homme Richard” which had been so battered in that
+memorable engagement that it had sunk two days after the fight.
+
+[Illustration: “THEE MUST BE JOHN PAUL JONES”]
+
+“The very same,” he answered with a profound courtesy. “The very same,
+at your service, ladies.”
+
+“And thou hast stopped to give us information just as though thee was an
+ordinary man,” she said in so awed a tone that he burst out laughing.
+
+“Well, and why not? Could I not give it as correctly as another? I am
+honored to be of service.”
+
+He swept them another courtesy, and a little confused by the meeting the
+two girls thanked him, and rode on.
+
+On every hand the citizens demonstrated the importance of the happy
+occasion. At two o’clock in the afternoon, the President of Congress
+received congratulations. At night the evening was ushered in by an
+elegant display of fireworks while the gentlemen of Congress, the civil
+and military officers, and many of the principal citizens partook of a
+collation spread for them at the City Tavern.
+
+The first great step toward making the union permanent was taken. There
+were many pitfalls awaiting the young nation ere one republic could be
+moulded out of thirteen sovereign states. There were concessions to be
+made, mistakes corrected, in later years a baptism of blood, before E
+Pluribus Unum could be properly the motto of the new United States. But
+the first step toward becoming a nation among the nations was taken when
+the states entered into a firm league of friendship on this day for
+their common defense, the security of their liberties and their mutual
+general welfare. A people struggling for liberty always become the
+favorites of heaven, and how far-reaching the links forged between the
+states was to become was known alone to the Ruler of all.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI—A MESSAGE OF INDIGNATION
+
+
+                                       “Thou art a traitor:
+            False to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father;
+            Conspirant ’gainst this high illustrous prince;
+            And from the extremest upward of thy head,
+            To the descent and dust beneath thy feet,
+            A most toad-spotted traitor.”
+
+                                 —“King Lear,” Shakespeare.
+
+“Mother, did thee know about the celebration?” asked Peggy, as the two
+girls entered the sitting-room where Mrs. Owen sat sewing.
+
+“Yes. Friend Deering was here but now, and told me the cause of it. A
+post-rider hath come from the South, Harriet; there is a letter.”
+
+“From Lieutenant Drayton?” cried Harriet, taking the missive eagerly.
+“Oh, I wonder if he hath found Clifford?”
+
+“That were best known by reading it,” suggested Peggy, as her cousin
+stood holding the letter without breaking the seal. “Open it quickly,
+Harriet. I am beset with curiosity.”
+
+Without more ado Harriet tore open the epistle. As she did so a sealed
+enclosure fell to the floor, but she was too intent upon what Drayton
+had written to notice it for the moment. The latter ran:
+
+“Esteemed and Honored Madam: It is with great pleasure that I take up my
+pen to inform you that at length I have located your brother; and a
+lively time it gave me, too. I left Philadelphia, as you doubtless
+remember, on Friday, but it was not until Sunday night that I overtook
+the party of American horse who had your brother in charge.
+
+“I had inquired concerning them at every inn on the highway, but they
+had either passed without stopping or had just left; so that I almost
+despaired of ever coming up with them. By great good fortune, however, I
+found them at The Head of the Elk[[3]] where I purposed to stay Sunday
+night. Supper was over, and prisoners and captors sat about the fire in
+the common room of The Three Lions Tavern when I entered. There were
+five prisoners in all, and I looked at each one carefully, hoping to
+recognize your brother by your description of him.
+
+“One, the youngest of the lot, had something strangely familiar about
+him, and all at once it came to me that he looked like Peggy.”
+
+“It could not have been Clifford, then,” Harriet paused to remark,
+looking at her cousin wonderingly. “I see no resemblance to you, Peggy.”
+
+“But thee said that he looked like father,” reminded Peggy. “I am like
+father too, save my eyes and hair, which are dark, like mother’s. If thy
+brother looks like father ’twould be natural that John should think him
+like me. Read on, Harriet. Perchance ’twas not he, after all.”
+
+“I was sure then,” continued Harriet, reading, “that this was your
+brother; so, after obtaining permission from the officer in charge, I
+approached him and said:
+
+“‘I cry you pardon, sir, but are you Clifford Owen, brother of Mistress
+Harriet Owen?’
+
+“He looked at me queerly, it seemed to me, before he replied:
+
+“‘I am not he; but if it were my name I see not what concern it is of
+yours.’
+
+“‘I bear a message to one Clifford Owen,’ I told him. ‘If you are not he
+of course ’twould be of no moment to you.’
+
+“‘No,’ he said, and seemed disinclined to talk. Seeing him so I left off
+for a time, but after some chat with the others, I turned to him again.
+
+“‘If you are agreeable, sir, I would fain know your name?’
+
+“‘You are persistent,’ he cried with some heat. ‘I am not the man you
+seek; then why should you wish my name?’
+
+“‘And why should you not tell it?’ I returned. ‘Unless, perchance, there
+are reasons for its suppression. We of these states ofttimes have to do
+with persons who care not for us to know their names.’
+
+“‘It is Wilson Williams, sir,’ he answered, springing to his feet. ‘Now
+will you cease your questions? I know not why you should pester me with
+them. Is’t the fashion of Americans to annoy prisoners in such manner?’
+
+“‘Since you are not the man, I will trouble you no further, sir,’ I
+answered with spirit. Turning my back upon him I began chatting with the
+others, who seemed not averse to conversation.
+
+“I had a shrewd suspicion that he was Clifford, passing for some reason
+under another name, so I led the talk to the war and its progress,
+gradually giving utterance to speeches that grew more and more
+inflammatory, hoping to make him declare himself under the heat of
+controversy. I saw that he writhed under the conversation, so at length
+I observed:
+
+“‘Even you British are coming to our way of thinking. The great Pitt,
+Charles Fox, and others among you know that ’tis the same spirit that
+animates us that stirred our common ancestors to resist the oppression
+of Charles First. None of you can be among us long without acknowledging
+this. Why, in Philadelphia, there is at this moment an English maiden
+who was bitter against us when she came among us, but who hath gradually
+been brought to our manner of belief. As a token of this she hath
+conferred upon me, an officer of the patriot army, a great mark for her
+favor.’ This I said, Mistress Harriet, to stir him. You must give me
+your pardon in the matter, for I thought but to serve you. And when I
+had said this I went to my saddle-bags which had been placed in a corner
+of the room, and drew forth the shirt that you had given me.
+
+“‘This hath she made for me,’ I said holding it up to view. ‘And this,’
+pointing to the inscription, Harriet Owen a loyal subject of the king,
+‘hath caused us much amusement.’ I could not but smile as I held it up,
+for it came to me that you had said that if it were seen by the English
+you would know that I had turned my back to the foe. And here it was
+back to the enemy even before seeing service. The words had no sooner
+left my lips than here was my young man on his feet. Snatching the
+garment from my hands he tore it into pieces before I could prevent.
+
+“‘There, sir!’ he cried, tossing the shreds into the fire. ‘No Yankee
+shall wear a shirt of my sister’s making. If you want satisfaction you
+shall have it.’
+
+“He clapped his hand to his side for his rapier, but, being a prisoner,
+of course found it not. ‘A sword!’ he cried furiously. ‘A sword! A
+sword!’
+
+“‘Sir,’ I said, saluting him, ‘I fight with no prisoner. And now that
+you have acknowledged that Mistress Harriet Owen is your sister,
+perchance you will permit me to give you her message. She wished you to
+inform her of your destination that she might exert herself to secure
+your release. Write her at Philadelphia, in care of Madam David Owen,
+who is a cousin of yours, as, I dare say, you know. I make no doubt but
+that your sister will be able to get you a parole.’
+
+“‘With your aid?’ he fumed. ‘I will rot in prison before I accept aid
+from a Yankee captain.’
+
+“‘A lieutenant, sir,’ I corrected. ‘By some oversight I have not yet the
+honor to be a captain. Perchance the matter will be adjusted after our
+next victory. I will bid you a very good-night, sir.’
+
+“‘Now by my life!’ he cried, flinging himself upon me. ‘You shall not
+leave this room until I have some satisfaction.’ With that he began
+belaboring me with his fists. Of course ’twas not in human nature to
+withstand such an onslaught without a return in kind, so presently here
+we were on the floor, rolling over and over, and pummeling each other
+like two schoolboys.
+
+“At length the officer of the troopers and some of the others pulled me
+off, for I was at the moment on top, having obtained the mastery.
+
+“‘Have done, lieutenant,’ cried the officer. ’Do you want to kill him? I
+can’t have my prisoner beat up.’
+
+“I got up, rather reluctantly, I must confess, for the young gentleman
+had been trying and had brought it upon himself, and turned to the
+others to make excuses. But they all, even his fellow prisoners, were
+laughing. They had perceived the trick I had used to make him declare
+himself, and were well pleased with the bout, as no bones were broken,
+or blood shed. Have no fear either, mistress; save a few bruises and
+perchance a black eye your brother is no worse hurt than he should be.
+
+“Your brother was sullen, and took the chaff with anything but a good
+grace; so, after a little, I bade them all good-night and went to my
+room to write you a report of the matter, which I fear will not be at
+all to your liking. A little later I heard him calling for inkhorn and
+powder,[[4]] so that if he writes in heat to you, this will inform you
+of the reason.
+
+“Monday morning.—I did not finish the letter last night, but hasten to
+do so this morning before starting on my journey South. Early the
+captain of the dragoons came to me laughing:
+
+“‘Here’s a kettle of fish, Drayton,’ he said. ’The Englishman vows he’ll
+have your blood. Oh, he’s in a pretty temper. He is pleading for a
+sword, and hath promised us everything but his life for one. He hath
+writ to his sister too, and I am to send it. How to do it I know not. If
+you are in favor with her perchance you can attend to it.’
+
+“‘I can,’ I replied. ‘I have one of my own to send. I am leaving
+immediately, captain, and after I am gone tell our friend that his
+sister hath no more liking for me than he seems to have, and but used me
+for messenger, lacking a better.
+
+“‘I shall tell him naught, I dare not,’ he said. ‘Only go not near him
+before you leave, lieutenant. I know not what will happen if you do.’
+
+“‘And I know that whatever happens I must have a whole skin for the
+delivery of my despatches,’ I answered laughing.
+
+“Enclosed please find the letter your brother hath writ, and permit me
+to thank you for the enjoyableness of this little frisk. If I have
+gained an enemy, you at least have found a brother; so honors are even.
+Whenever you have another service to perform you have only to call upon
+him who subscribes himself
+
+                                       “Your humble and devoted servant,
+                                                          “John Drayton.
+
+“_To Mistress Harriet Owen_,
+“_Philadelphia, Pa._”
+
+“The wretch!” cried Harriet, throwing the letter to the floor in a pet.
+“How dare he act so? Oh, I wish that Clifford had run him through.
+’Twere well for John Drayton that he had no sword. How dare he flout him
+in that manner?”
+
+“Softly, softly, my child,” spoke Mrs. Owen mildly, with difficulty
+suppressing her smiles, while Peggy laughed outright. “Methinks both the
+lads were at fault, but John wished only to satisfy himself of the
+other’s identity. And he did serve thee in that, Harriet. But why should
+Clifford wish to conceal it?”
+
+“I know not,” answered Harriet soberly. “I suppose ’twas because he
+feared father would make him withdraw from the service should he find
+him.”
+
+“Mayhap he explains the matter in his letter,” suggested Peggy picking
+up the neglected enclosure, and handing it to Harriet.
+
+“Oh, yes; the letter,” cried Harriet tearing it open eagerly. “Why!” she
+exclaimed casting her eye quickly down the page. “He’s angry! Just
+listen.
+
+“‘And is it true,’” began the missive without heading or beginning of
+any sort, “‘that Harriet Owen, my sister Harriet, hath so far forgot her
+duty to her king as to labor in behalf of his rebellious subjects? And
+such an one as you have chosen to favor, Harriet! Could not the daughter
+of Colonel William Owen, of the Welsh Fusiliers, find a better object
+than this whippersnapper of a Yankee captain?
+
+“‘Harriet! Harriet! And has it come to this? Are you a traitor to your
+country and your king? To make a shirt for a rebel were infamy enough,
+but to embroider your name across its shoulders that all might see that
+Harriet Owen, a loyal subject of the king, was so employed surpasses
+belief.
+
+“‘Harriet, if this be true, if you have forgot what is due yourself,
+your brother, your father, your country and the most illustrious prince
+that ever sat upon the throne—if you have forgot your duty to all these,
+I say, then never more shall I call you sister. Never will I write the
+name of Clifford Owen again, but go down to my grave under the one I
+have chosen.
+
+“‘But, my sister, I cannot believe it of you. I cannot believe that so
+short a time could change you so. Some one other than you must have made
+that shirt, and this popinjay of a captain—or is it a lieutenant? no
+matter!—hath stolen it to flaunt before me, and to stir me to anger.
+
+“‘Would that when I saw you in Philadelphia I had stopped, in spite of
+my captors. It was not permitted, and at the time, I was content that it
+should be so, for I feared that father might be with you. I dread his
+displeasure when he meets me; for, as you know, he hath, in truth, great
+cause to be offended with me. Should the matter have truth in it that
+you have become imbued with the virus of this rebellion, it may be that
+a short account of how I have been fighting for the glory of old Britain
+will bring you back to a realizing sense of your duty.
+
+“‘Know then that when I left you home,—and why did you ever leave there?
+This country is no place for a girl bred as you have been.—After I had
+left there, I say, I obtained a commission by the help of Lord Rawdon. I
+think he knew who I was; we met him once, if you remember, but he said
+naught about the matter. He saw at once that I wished my identity kept
+sub rosa, and the army was greatly in need of men. Of course it cost a
+pretty penny, and I expect a scene with father about it. Pray that I may
+distinguish myself ere we meet.
+
+“‘I came with Lord Rawdon to the colonies, and have been with him ever
+since, mostly in the province of Georgia. We conquered that colony and
+garrisoned Savannah, where you and father would, no doubt, have found me
+had not that storm driven Sir Henry Clinton elsewhere to land. I was
+sent to Charlestown after you left for Camden and was stationed there
+for some months. Then his lordship sent me to New York by sea with
+letters for General Clinton. I was tired of the Southern climate, and
+another gladly exchanged with me, and went South while I remained in New
+York.
+
+“‘There was lately some information to be procured about the rebel
+forces, and volunteering for the service I was captured by some of the
+enemy’s scouts. There were a number of British prisoners in the rebel
+camp, and, as they seem not to be any too well supplied with rations, we
+prisoners are sent somewhere to the interior to be fed and kept out of
+the way of mischief. I think our destination is Charlottesville, where
+the Convention prisoners[[5]] are. ’Tis said that there is a regular
+colony of them at that place, which is, I believe, in the province of
+Virginia. There is to be a short stop at Fredericksburg before going on
+to the encampment of prisoners, for what reason I know not. If you will
+write immediately to that place I think I will receive it.
+
+“‘But, Harriet, dearly as I would love to hear from you, if you have
+grown to sympathize with these revolted colonies in this broil against
+the king, if you are false to your country, as that fellow would have me
+believe, then write me not.
+
+“‘How can one sympathize with such obstinate people as these rebels are?
+When one is in their company they are barely civil, and that is, as Jack
+Falstaff says, by compulsion. They seem to grow stronger by every
+defeat. And why do they? They seem like Antæus, of whom ’twas fabled
+that being a son of the goddess Tellus, or the earth, every fall he
+received from Hercules gave him more strength so that the hero was
+forced to strangle him in his arms at last. Would that our minister
+could send us a Hercules to conquer these rebels.
+
+“‘If you can secure my release, Harriet, do so. I am quite sure that Sir
+Henry Clinton, if the matter is brought to his attention, would exert
+himself regarding an exchange. As you are doubtless aware, an affair of
+this kind must be kept prominently before the notice of the great ones,
+else it will be shelved for some other thing that is pressed with more
+persistence. And yet, if nothing can be accomplished save by the
+connivance of that captain, lieutenant, or whatever he may be, I would
+rather a thousand times stay as I am. Write me, if you are still my
+loyal sister.
+
+                                                       “’Wilson Williams
+                                                       (Clifford Owen).’
+
+“If ever,” spoke Harriet with tears of vexation filling her lovely eyes,
+“if ever I see that John Drayton again I will give him occasion to
+remember it. Clifford never wrote such a dreadful letter to me before.
+Peggy Owen, ’tis no laughing matter.”
+
+“No,” agreed Peggy merrily. “No, ’tis not, Harriet. And yet I cannot
+help but laugh. I cry thy pardon, my cousin, but, but——” Unable to
+finish she gave vent to another peal of laughter.
+
+-----
+[3] Now Elkton, Maryland.
+
+[4] Horn ink-bottle, and powder, or sand, to dry the written page.
+
+[5] At Burgoyne’s earnest solicitation General Gates consented that the
+surrender at Saratoga should be styled a “convention.” This was in
+imitation of the famous convention of Kloster-Seven, by which the Duke
+of Cumberland, twenty years before, sought to save his feelings while
+losing his army, beleaguered by the French in Hanover. The soothing
+phrase has been well remembered by the British, who to this day speak of
+the surrender as the “Convention of Saratoga.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII—HARRIET TAKES MATTERS IN HAND
+
+
+               “I feel less anger than regret.
+               No violence of speech, no obloquy,
+               No accusation shall escape my lips:
+               Need there is none, nor reason, to avoid
+               My questions: if thou value truth, reply.”
+
+                 —“Count Julian,” _Walter Savage Landor_.
+
+“And if it had not been for your insisting upon it that shirt would
+never have been made,” went on Harriet in an aggrieved tone.
+
+“I think that ’twas I more than Peggy who persuaded thee to make the
+shirt,” said Mrs. Owen quietly. “It was done to woo thee from thy
+fancies, Harriet, rather than with any purpose to get thee to aid our
+soldiers. If thee will write to thy brother and explain the matter to
+him he will forgive thee it. Further, according to John’s letter, had it
+not been for that very same garment thy brother would not have
+acknowledged his identity. So thou seest, my child, that good hath come
+out of it after all.”
+
+“Why, so it hath,” acknowledged Harriet brightening. “I had not thought
+of it in that light, madam my cousin. And would you mind if my brother
+were to come here, if a parole can be obtained for him?”
+
+“Of course he must come here,” returned the lady with a smile of
+gratification. She was pleased that Harriet should show thoughtfulness
+for her convenience. It had not always been the case with either the
+girl or her father. Colonel Owen was wont to demand a thing rather than
+request it, and Harriet herself had been somewhat addicted to obtaining
+her desires in the same fashion at Middlebrook. Of late, however, she
+was evincing more consideration for both Peggy and herself. “David would
+not wish it otherwise.”
+
+“’Tis very kind of you, my cousin,” said the girl with sudden feeling.
+“But you will like Clifford. Indeed no one can help it.”
+
+“I am quite sure that we shall,” responded Mrs. Owen graciously. “His
+letter bespoke him to be a lad of parts. And now as to the parole. That
+must first be accomplished before the exchange can be thought of; the
+latter will of necessity take time.”
+
+“How much?” queried Harriet. “I know that ’twas long before father got
+his, but that was in the early part of the war, before England had
+consented to exchange prisoners.”
+
+“I know not how long ’twill take, Harriet.” Mrs. Owen threaded her
+needle thoughtfully. “Those things seem in truth to go by favor. As thy
+brother well says, if those in authority exert themselves it should be
+arranged quickly. If they do not then the matter drags along sometimes
+for months.”
+
+“Awaiting the convenience of the great,” added the girl with some
+bitterness. “And such convenience is consulted only when they have need
+of further service. The past is always forgotten. Still, father stands
+well with Sir Henry, and I myself rendered him no little service by what
+I did at Middlebrook. I think,—nay, I am sure,—that if I can get his ear
+he will see that the affair is adjusted according to my wishes. I will
+write to him.”
+
+“It may be, Harriet, but thee must make up thy mind to endure some
+little delay. It seldom happens that there are not some rules or
+regulations to observe, all of which take time. For thy sake we will
+hope that Clifford’s case will be the exception in such matters. We can
+do naught to-day about it because of the celebration, but to-morrow thou
+and I will go to Mr. Joseph Reed, the president of the council, who will
+advise us about the parole and anent the exchange also.”
+
+“Harriet,” said Peggy suddenly, “does thee remember that when thy
+brother is exchanged he must return at once to the British lines? Thee
+had better not be too eager anent the exchange.”
+
+“But I intend to go back with him,” Harriet informed her composedly.
+
+“Thee does?” asked Peggy in surprise. “Why?”
+
+“’Tis so much gayer in New York, Peggy. Don’t you remember the times we
+had before father made us go South? Beside, I cannot hear at all from
+father here. As you know, ’tis almost impossible to get letters through
+the lines to him, and I have had no word since I have been here. I know
+not whether he is in Camden, where we left him, or with my Lord
+Cornwallis.”
+
+“But would he wish thee to be there, my child?” questioned Mrs. Owen
+gravely. “I cannot but think that he would prefer that thee should
+remain with us until he either comes or sends for thee.”
+
+“He would not mind if I were with Clifford,” returned the girl lightly.
+“We could have great sport there together. Besides, if I wish it father
+would not care. If he did I could soon bring him to look at the affair
+with my eyes. I usually do about as I please; don’t I, Peggy?”
+
+“Yes; but Cousin William did not always approve of thy way,” reminded
+Peggy. “If thee continues to dwell in the house thy father had ’twill
+cost greatly, and once he spoke to me about thy extravagance. He said
+that both thee and thy brother were like to bring him to grief. ’Twas
+for that reason that he welcomed the idea that I should look after the
+expense. Does thee not remember?”
+
+“I remember naught but that I wondered that you should prefer
+housewifery to pleasuring,” answered Harriet gayly. “Father is always
+complaining about extravagance, but he likes right well for me to appear
+bravely before his friends. La! when one has position to maintain one
+must spend money, and no one knows it any better than my father.”
+
+Peggy was silent. Did her cousin wish her brother’s exchange solely that
+she might return to New York, or was she in truth anxious to be where
+she could hear from her father? Had she really any natural affection for
+either, she wondered. Harriet began to laugh at her expression.
+
+“I always know when you are displeased, cousin mine,” she said putting
+her arm about her. “You pull down the corner of your mouth, so.” Suiting
+the action to the word. “And your eyebrows go up, so. Now, confess: when
+you were with us, didn’t you want to come back to your own people?”
+
+“Yes,” admitted Peggy, “I did. But it was because of my mother. Thy
+father would not be with thee there, and as thy brother is in the army
+also, he may be sent anywhere in the States at any time. While I know
+that thee must find it far from agreeable to be with those who are not
+of thy politics, still ’tis the wish of thy father that thee should stay
+here.”
+
+“Will you never be naught but a prim little Quakeress?” cried Harriet
+shaking her. “Know then that I have wishes too, and friends there who
+are almost as close as kinspeople. Then, too, you would be relieved of
+me here. Just think how delightsome that would be,” she ended teasingly.
+
+“I am not thinking of us at all,” confessed truthful Peggy, “but of what
+is best for thee. I feel as though I were responsible to Cousin William
+for thee.”
+
+“Don’t you worry, mother mentor,” cried Harriet dancing about gleefully.
+“When Clifford comes your responsibility ceases. How he will laugh when
+he finds that I can no longer care for myself. I am going now to my
+room, little mother. If I stay longer than you think best call me.”
+
+“Thee is saucy,” was Peggy’s retort, as Harriet ran out of the room,
+pausing only long enough to make a mouth at her.
+
+But Harriet’s high spirits had vanished the next morning when she
+returned from her visit to Mr. Reed.
+
+“What think you?” she cried bursting in upon Peggy who was ironing in
+the kitchen. “Mr. Reed will see that the parole is given Clifford, but
+the exchange must wait until an American prisoner is found of equal rank
+with Clifford, who can be given for him. Isn’t it provoking!”
+
+“I should think thee could bear the delay patiently so long as thee will
+have thy brother with thee,” remarked Peggy quietly. “’Twould be far
+more vexatious if the parole could not be given.”
+
+“Why, of course, Peggy. Oh, well! I suppose that I must content myself.
+Thank fortune, I can at least write to Clifford. If he were not in the
+rebel lines even that would be denied me. I am going to write him now.”
+
+“Mr. Reed was much taken with Harriet,” observed Mrs. Owen, entering the
+kitchen as the English maiden left it.
+
+“But not more than thee appears to be, mother,” smiled Peggy. “’Tis
+amusing to see the difference with which thee regards her now, and the
+way it was at Middlebrook.”
+
+“She seems much improved,” answered her mother. “Does thee not think so?
+So much more thoughtful of others. It did not strike me that she was
+much given to consideration then; but now——”
+
+“But now thee has had her under thy wing for nearly three months; thee
+has nursed her back to health, and humored her every whim as though she
+were a child of thine until thee regards her as though she were thy very
+own. Thou dear mother!” The girl stopped her ironing long enough to kiss
+her mother tenderly. “Doesn’t thee know that whatever thee broods over
+thee loves?”
+
+Mrs. Owen laughed.
+
+“How well thee knows me, Peggy. But thou art fond of her too, art thou
+not?”
+
+“Yes, I am, mother,” admitted the girl. “Whenever we go anywhere I am
+proud of her beauty, and that she is my cousin. And my friends here are
+charmed with her. Even Sally and Betty—though she sometimes makes
+dreadful speeches because of being for the king. She can be so sweet,
+mother, that at times I must steel myself against her, lest I should be
+more tolerant of her opinions than is wise.”
+
+“As to her being for the king, my child, that, as thee knows, is because
+of being English. And I would not have her feign a belief in the cause
+of Liberty did she not of a truth hold it to be just. An open foe is
+ever best, Peggy.”
+
+“It isn’t politics, mother. At least not her feeling toward us, though
+it is trying to stand some of her comments, but——”
+
+“Peggy, thee is troubled anent something,” asserted the lady taking
+Peggy’s face between her hands and gazing anxiously into her eyes. “What
+is it, my child?”
+
+“’Tis anent the delay, mother. Should the exchange be effected quickly
+then there would be no cause for worry. But if it must be long, as
+Harriet thinks it may be, then I fear that my cousin will try to
+communicate with Sir Henry Clinton. In fact, she spoke of doing it
+yesterday, and I cautioned her against it. She said that she would not
+bring harm to us; but, mother, at her home in New York she was not
+always scrupulous about her promise. In truth, she let nothing stand in
+her way when she had her heart set on doing a thing. I intended telling
+thee about the chat when we returned from our ride yesterday, but what
+with the celebration and the letters it escaped my mind.”
+
+“Thee may dismiss the matter from thy thoughts, Peggy, for she spoke
+about that very thing to Mr. Reed. He told her that it would not help
+the exchange at this time, but that after her brother came it could be
+taken up. Then, he said, he would see that whatever she might wish to
+communicate to the British commander should reach him.”
+
+“Oh, I am so glad,” exclaimed Peggy. “It hath given me no small concern,
+mother. I did not think my cousin would wittingly cause us trouble, but
+I feared that on the impulse of the moment, she might try to pass a
+letter through the lines. Thee knows what that would mean, mother?”
+
+“Yes; and she does also, for Mr. Reed went into it with her. He told her
+to be very careful in speaking even about writing to Sir Henry, as the
+people were in no mood to tolerate communications with the enemy. She
+understands all that it means, my child. I think she will do naught
+until Clifford comes, and perhaps he will be better of judgment than
+she.”
+
+“I am so glad,” said Peggy again, and much relieved resumed her
+neglected ironing.
+
+The days passed. March glided into April, but the soft sweet days of
+spring brought no letter from Clifford. If the parole had been given
+Harriet did not know of it. She fumed and fretted under the waiting.
+
+“Why do I not hear from him?” she cried one morning. “It hath been a
+month since I wrote, and it doth not take half so long to hear from
+Virginia. I do wish that either I would hear from Clifford, or that Mr.
+Reed would let me know anent the parole.”
+
+“Thee is like to get one of thy wishes, for here comes Mr. Reed now,”
+said Peggy who was standing by the front window of the living-room.
+
+“Let me go to the door, madam my cousin,” exclaimed Harriet as Mrs. Owen
+started to answer the knocker.
+
+“Very well, Harriet,” assented the matron with a smile.
+
+But both Peggy and her mother were startled to hear Mr. Reed say
+gravely, in answer to Harriet’s eager questioning:
+
+“Nay; ’tis not about the parole I am come, Mistress Harriet, but anent a
+more serious matter.”
+
+“And what, sir, could be more serious than my brother’s release?” came
+Harriet’s clear voice.
+
+“A charge against you, mistress, would be much more serious,” was the
+reply.
+
+“Of what do you accuse me, sir?” was the girl’s haughty query.
+
+“I accuse you of nothing, but I insist upon truthful answers to some
+questions. For the sake of these cousins with whom you are staying I
+entreat you to reply with truth, and nothing but truth.”
+
+“Come, Peggy,” cried Mrs. Owen rising. “We will see what this means.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII—HOSPITALITY BETRAYED
+
+
+                 “For right is right, since God is God;
+                   And right the day must win;
+                 To doubt would be disloyalty,
+                   To falter would be sin.”
+
+                                 —“The Right Must Win,”
+                             _Frederick William Faber_.
+
+“What is the trouble, Friend Reed?” asked Mrs. Owen as she entered the
+hall.
+
+“I wish you good-morning, Mrs. Owen. It grieves me to enter David Owen’s
+house upon such mission as I must this day perform, but war is no
+respecter of persons. Were it my own household I still must subject its
+inmates to a most rigid inquiry.” Mr. Reed fumbled nervously with his
+cocked hat as he spoke, and looked the embarrassment that he felt.
+
+“Come in, Friend Reed.” Mrs. Owen threw wide the door of the
+sitting-room with a smile. “Thee may make all the inquiries thee wishes
+without apology. And what is the trouble?”
+
+“Madam—I need hardly ask, and yet I must—did you know that this girl
+here had been communicating with the enemy?”
+
+“No; I did not know of it. Harriet, is such the case? Hast thou indeed
+been guilty of this?”
+
+“Yes,” admitted Harriet defiantly. “I did write to Sir Henry Clinton
+about my brother. If that is communicating with the enemy then I am
+guilty.”
+
+“This then,” said Mr. Reed producing a letter from his coat, “this then
+is yours?”
+
+Harriet took the missive and scanned it quickly.
+
+“Well,” she said. “And what then? It is mine, and, as may be seen, ’tis
+innocent enough. It merely asks the commander to get my brother’s
+exchange as soon as he can. It speaks too of the services our family
+have rendered to the cause. Why should it not be written? Am I not
+English? Have I not a right to ask aid from my own people?”
+
+“Undoubtedly, mistress; but in times like these there are regulations to
+be observed by both sides. One who breaks them does so at his own risk,
+and subjects himself and those with whom he abides to suspicion. I
+warned you against this very thing. I promised to attend to any letter
+you might wish to send to the British commander after we had found an
+officer who might be exchanged for your brother. That you preferred to
+risk sending a message through the lines irregularly rather than to
+benefit by my assistance doth not speak well for the harmlessness of the
+letter, however innocent it doth appear on the surface.”
+
+“But it contains nothing that can harm any one,” she protested. “And you
+were so long in telling me about the parole. Why, look you! ’Tis all of
+a month since you promised to get my brother here, and he hath not come
+yet! Think you I could wait longer? The letter hath not been written
+five days, and had you obtained my brother’s release as you promised
+’twould not have been written at all. ’Tis unfair to hold me to account
+for a matter for which you yourself are to blame.”
+
+“Your brother was not at Fredericksburg as you thought he would be,
+Mistress Harriet,” answered he. “I was but seeking to find where he had
+been taken. The delay was in your service. Why did you not come to me
+instead of taking matters in your own hands? I would have explained. As
+the affair now stands you have not only brought punishment upon
+yourself, but you have subjected these, your cousins, to suspicion.”
+
+“As to myself,” she said superbly, “it doth not matter. I was right to
+seek aid of my own people. I would do it again if it were to do over. My
+brother’s welfare merits any risk I might run. As for Peggy and her
+mother, it is needless to say anything. They are not responsible for any
+of my doings, and cannot be held for them. ’Tis ridiculous to tell me
+that I have brought suspicion upon them, and ’tis done merely to fright
+me.”
+
+“You speak that which you know not of,” he said soberly. “These be
+parlous times, mistress. Have you forgot that at Middlebrook you played
+the spy? Have you forgot that despite that fact you are brought again in
+our lines on the plea of ill health? Have you forgot that your father is
+a colonel in the British army, and that you yourself are an English
+girl? There are those who say that these facts show plainly that your
+cousins but use their patriotism as a mask to aid the side with which
+they truly sympathize.”
+
+Harriet stared at him in dismay, and turned very pale as a wail broke
+from Peggy:
+
+“Oh, Harriet, Harriet! why did thee do it? And thee promised.”
+
+“No harm shall come to you, Peggy,” cried Harriet. “Sir,” turning to Mr.
+Reed, “believe me when I say that these two had naught to do with either
+the writing or the sending of the letter. In truth, they knew not when
+’twas done, nor how.”
+
+“And how shall your word be believed when you think nothing of breaking
+it?” he questioned. “You promised your cousin, it seems; you also
+promised me that you would not hold communication with the enemy without
+first consulting me. We cannot trust you. Beside, the letter was
+returned with this warning from His Excellency, General Washington:
+
+  “’Gentlemen of the Council:
+
+  “‘Permit no communication whatever between the writer of this letter
+  and the enemy. Young as she is, she hath already shown herself very
+  adept as a spy.’”
+
+“What, what are you going to do to them?” asked the girl, in
+consternation. “In very truth, sir, they had naught to do with the
+matter.”
+
+“We know it,” he made answer. “And yet, despite past services, despite
+the fact that David is in the field, there were some who whispered
+against them. The purest patriots in times like these are subjected to
+suspicion by the least untoward action. A year ago who would have
+thought that General Arnold would try to betray his country? I, myself,
+have been approached with offers from an emissary of the king. Because
+Mrs. Owen and her daughter are so well known for patriotic services,
+because we know them to be persons of high honor and unquestioned
+integrity, we have permitted no reflection upon them. But this state of
+things will not continue if you are allowed to remain with them.
+Therefore, we have decided that your punishment shall be——”
+
+“What?” she cried anxiously. “Oh, I pray ’tis not arrest.”
+
+“Wait,” he said. “The arrest was thought of, but the council consented
+to give it o’er on condition that you withdraw immediately into the
+enemy’s lines. In short, mistress, you are to be sent to New York.”
+
+“Banished to New York?” she repeated in amazement. “Why, that is where I
+want to be. Good sir,” sweeping him an elaborate courtesy, “I thank you
+and the excellent gentlemen of the council. The punishment is most
+agreeable to my liking.”
+
+“And to ours,” he answered her sternly, offended by her levity. “Be
+ready, therefore, to go to-morrow morning. In company with a number of
+other women, Tories and wives of Tories guilty of the same misdemeanor
+as yourself, you will be sent under escort to the British. Mistress
+Owen, you have my sympathy and congratulation also that the matter is no
+worse. I will bid you all a very good day.”
+
+Harriet sank down on the settle as the door closed upon the gentleman,
+and looked expectantly at the other two. But neither Mrs. Owen nor Peggy
+spoke. The matron quietly resumed her sewing, while Peggy stared at her
+as though this new breach of trust was more than she could believe.
+
+“Say something, one of you,” cried the girl suddenly. “I’d rather you
+would be angry than to sit there like that.”
+
+“How could thee do it?” came from Peggy. “Oh, Harriet! doesn’t thee ever
+keep thy word?”
+
+“Well, I promised not to bring any harm upon you, and I didn’t; did I?
+Mr. Reed tried to scare us anent that, but he soon told the truth of the
+matter.”
+
+“It was not owing to thee that harm did not result to us, Harriet,” said
+Mrs. Owen in a serious tone. “I dare not think what would have happened
+had we not been in our own city, and have given proof many times of our
+patriotism. I am not going to rail at thee, child; for I believe that
+thee did not wittingly try to injure us. But reflect on this: here were
+we all, Mr. Reed, Peggy and myself, who were trying to aid thee in
+getting a release for thy brother. We did all that could be done, and
+cautioned thee against trying to do anything without our help. We had
+thy best interests at heart, Harriet. Now, dear child, doth it not seem
+that something was owing to those whose hospitality thou wert enjoying?
+Was not the letter inexcusable as a breach of hospitality?”
+
+“Oh,” cried the girl bursting into tears. “I see now that it was. I did
+not mean to bring harm to you, madam my cousin. Oh, I was wrong in doing
+it. I am sorry now.”
+
+“Then we will dwell no longer upon that feature of it,” remarked the
+lady. “The thing now is to see what good can be got out of it. Thou wilt
+see about thy brother’s exchange, wilt thou not? He should be there with
+thee.”
+
+“Yes,” assented the girl miserably. “I will go to Sir Henry at once
+anent it. In that way ’tis much better to be where I can see him. Still,
+while I am glad to go I shall miss you both. You have been very good to
+me, but it will be gayer there. We British know better than you how to
+make merry. But if I were to be ill again I know of no place that I
+would rather be than here.”
+
+“If thee only cares for us when thee is ill or in trouble, thee can just
+stay with the British,” cried Peggy indignantly. “Thy family seem to
+think that we live for naught else than to do you service. I wonder if
+the day will ever come when one of you will meet favors with aught but
+trickery?”
+
+“Peggy,” chided her mother sharply.
+
+“I can’t help it, mother. I am sick and tired of deceit and falsehood,
+and the knavery that makes us appear like traitors to the country. I am
+glad that she is going.” With this passionate outbreak Peggy burst into
+tears.
+
+Harriet looked at her for a moment unable to make any reply, but
+presently she spoke in tones that were unusually gentle for her:
+
+“Peggy, the day will come when you shall see what I will do. We are not
+all bad, if we are English.”
+
+“Don’t ever promise about anything any more,” sobbed Peggy. “I can never
+believe thee again.”
+
+But all of her resentment vanished the next morning as a hay cart drew
+up before the door under escort of a guard. There were a few women in
+the cart, and a number of people, men and boys mostly, had collected to
+view the departure.
+
+“Oh, Harriet,” she sobbed putting her arms about her, “since thee must
+go I wish the mode was different.”
+
+For an instant Harriet’s lips quivered. She grew very pale and clung to
+Peggy convulsively. It was only for an instant, however, that she
+displayed any emotion.
+
+“Oh, well,” she said with a toss of her head. “The mode is well enough,
+I dare say, since ’twill convey me to New York. And Fleetwood is to go
+with one of the men.”
+
+But Peggy knew that in spite of her brave front the girl was humiliated
+at the manner of her departure. Without a glance at the surrounding
+crowd of curious ones Harriet took her place in the cart, and settled
+herself comfortably.
+
+“If a letter should come from Clifford, madam my cousin,” she said
+leaning forward to speak to Mrs. Owen, “I pray you to read it. Then
+write him in answer what hath befallen me. Tell him I will spare no
+effort to have him join me soon in New York. And so farewell!”
+
+She smiled brightly at them, and waved her hand repeatedly as the cart
+drove off. Peggy and her mother stood watching it as long as it was in
+sight.
+
+“Oh, mother, I am so tired of it all,” said the girl, with tears. “Will
+nothing ever be right any more? Will this long war and all its
+complications never be over with? I am so weary, mother.”
+
+“Give not way to such feelings, Peggy,” said her mother, drawing her
+into the house. “It doth seem dark at times, and this happening is in
+truth a sad ending to Harriet’s stay with us. But everything will come
+right in time. Do not doubt it. Have faith. All will be well some time.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX—THE DICTATES OF HUMANITY
+
+
+            “The sweetest lives are those to duty wed
+              Whose deeds both great and small,
+            Are close knit strands of an unbroken thread,
+              Where love ennobles all.
+            The world may sound no trumpets, ring no bells;
+            The Book of Life the shining record tells.”
+
+                             —_Elizabeth Barrett Browning_.
+
+After the departure of an inmate of a family, whether that person has
+been pleasant or otherwise, there follows a feeling of blankness, of
+something amiss. Distance, in truth, produces in idea the same effect as
+in real perspective. Objects are softened, and rounded, and rendered
+doubly graceful; the harsher and more ordinary points of character are
+mellowed down, and those by which it is remembered are the more striking
+outlines that mark sublimity, grace, or beauty. And so it was with
+Harriet.
+
+Her irritability, her unpleasant remarks, her ceaseless demand upon
+their service were soon forgotten. The grace and dignity that
+distinguished her from others were remembered to her advantage. The
+pleasant smile, the pretty manner, the imperious bearing were idealized
+in the softening glamour of absence. The mode of her departure had
+palliated whatever of resentment Mrs. Owen and Peggy might have felt for
+the girl’s breach of hospitality.
+
+“I believe that I am lonesome without Harriet,” declared Peggy one
+evening. “Is thee, mother?”
+
+It was the seventh day of Harriet’s absence. Tea was over. The servants
+had retired for the night, and mother and daughter sat alone in the
+sitting-room, knitting by the light of the candles.
+
+“’Tis most natural for us to miss her, my daughter. She hath been with
+us so long, and with thee especially that ’tis not to be wondered at
+that thee feels lost. Harriet hath many good qualities. She hath been
+left to follow her own impulses too much, but I hope that her
+association with thee hath been of benefit to her.”
+
+“With me, mother?” exclaimed Peggy flushing scarlet at this praise.
+“Thee should not say that. In truth, I don’t deserve it, mother. I was
+often vexed with her, and sometimes gave way to sharpness. I ofttimes
+went to my room to gain control of myself. I have a temper, mother, as
+thee must know.”
+
+“I do, my child; but I know too that thou art trying to get the mastery
+of it. Because thou didst so strive is the reason that I believe that
+companionship with thee will make Harriet better. She hath received
+impressions that cannot fail to be of advantage to her. I am hoping that
+Harriet will make a noble woman.”
+
+“I wonder,” said Peggy musingly, “why Clifford did not write to her? It
+would have saved all this trouble had he done so.”
+
+“Thee must remember that he said in his letter that he thought they were
+to stop for a time at Fredericksburg. They may not have done so, or he
+may have been taken elsewhere after a short stop. Mr. Reed says that
+there was no report of any such party at any of the taverns there.”
+
+“The parole will not be given now, will it, mother?”
+
+“I think Mr. Reed would exert himself further in the matter did we
+desire it, Peggy, but ’tis best to let it drop for the present. If there
+are whispers anent our having our cousins with us, ’twere best to let
+Harriet see to an exchange for the lad. If that could be obtained his
+whereabouts would have to be made known. For ourselves, we will live
+very quietly for a time. It may be as well that the boy did not come.
+Should he prove a lad of spirit, as I make no doubt he is, between him
+and Harriet they might have caused greater trouble than she did.”
+
+“Yes,” assented the girl thoughtfully. “’Tis as well as thou sayest,
+mother. Still, I have heard so much anent my cousin, Clifford, that I
+confess that I am somewhat curious about him. I think I should like to
+see him.”
+
+“I have wondered about him also, Peggy. Is he like William, I wonder, or
+doth he take after his mother? William could be agreeable at times, but
+one was sometimes cognizant only of his failings.”
+
+[Illustration: “I HAVE HEARD NOTHING”]
+
+Thus conversing the minutes passed quickly. The house was very still,
+and the monotonous quiet was broken only by the click of the needles.
+The tall clock in the hall had just announced the usual bedtime when
+there sounded three loud raps on the front door.
+
+“That was the knocker,” cried Peggy, starting up. “I wonder who it can
+be at this time of night?”
+
+“We shall soon see,” said her mother taking up a candle and proceeding
+to the hall. “Who is it?” she called cautiously.
+
+“’Tis I, Sally. Open quickly. I have news,” answered the clear voice of
+Sally Evans.
+
+Mrs. Owen unbolted the door hastily, and Sally tumbled rather than
+stepped into the hall. Her calash was untied, and her curly locks had
+escaped their ribbon and hung in picturesque confusion about her face.
+
+“Harriet!” she gasped. “I want Harriet.”
+
+“Harriet is gone, Sally,” exclaimed Peggy. “Has thee not heard?”
+
+“Gone where?” asked Sally in dismay. “I have heard nothing. She must be
+found, wherever she hath gone. There is news——”
+
+“Come in and sit down,” said Mrs. Owen drawing her into the
+sitting-room. “Now tell us what hath occurred.”
+
+“I should tell Harriet,” persisted Sally, who was plainly excited.
+“Where hath she gone?”
+
+“She was sent to New York for communicating with the enemy,” replied
+Mrs. Owen. “’Tis strange that thee heard naught of it. It happened a
+week since.”
+
+“We have been so busy,” explained Sally recovering herself a little.
+“What shall I do? Her brother is dying in the Williamsburg Hospital.”
+
+“What! Not Clifford?” cried Mrs. Owen and Peggy simultaneously.
+
+“Yes; Dr. Cochran, who hath been appointed director-general of all the
+hospitals since Dr. Shippen resigned, hath just returned from a tour of
+inspection of the Southern division. At our hospital at Williamsburg he
+found Harriet’s brother, Clifford, who told him who he was. He was a
+prisoner, as we know, and was shot while trying to make his escape. The
+doctor promised to let his sister know of the matter as soon as he
+reached Philadelphia. He was too busy to come himself, but sent me. Oh,
+I ran every step of the way, and now she is not here.”
+
+“No,” said Mrs. Owen. “She is not here. Oh, the poor boy!”
+
+“Why, I have forgot his note,” exclaimed Sally. She drew an unsealed
+letter from the bosom of her gown and handed it to Mrs. Owen. The lady
+opened it at once.
+
+  “Come to me, Harriet,” she read, “if you wish to see your brother
+  alive. I am dying, and I wish not to die alone in a strange land
+  with none of my kinspeople near me. The doctor will find a way for
+  you. Can write no more. Come!
+
+                                                           “Clifford.”
+
+“Would that the child had not been so hasty,” sighed the matron folding
+the missive thoughtfully. “And now what is to be done? We must let her
+know, of course. I will see Mr. Reed in the morning.”
+
+“But ’twill be too late for her to go to him by the time she gets the
+word,” said Sally. “How long doth it take to send a letter to New York?”
+
+“All of three days. More, if the roads are bad. I fear too that ’twill
+be too late, but it must be done.” Mrs. Owen let her head fall on her
+hand and sat in deep perplexity for a while. “Sally,” she said abruptly,
+“can the doctor be seen to-night?”
+
+“He might see thee, Mrs. Owen,” answered Sally. “We are monstrously
+busy, but the case is exceptional. And that reminds me that ’tis time I
+was returning.” She rose as she spoke.
+
+“Alone? Nay; wait until I get my cloak.”
+
+“Tut, tut!” cried Sally. “An army nurse afraid? Why, I would not fear a
+whole Hessian regiment. Nay; I will not hear of taking thee out at
+night, Mrs. Owen.”
+
+“Let us both go, mother,” suggested Peggy, running for their wraps.
+
+“And I would like to see the doctor,” said Mrs. Owen as Sally began
+again to expostulate.
+
+The walk to the hospital, which occupied the entire square between
+Spruce and Pine Streets and Eighth and Ninth Streets, was short. Peggy
+and Sally talked in low tones over Harriet’s absence and the cause
+thereof, while Mrs. Owen mused in silence. The lady was still thoughtful
+after her interview with Dr. Cochran.
+
+“How did the doctor say he was, mother?” asked Peggy as they started for
+home.
+
+“Badly hurt, my child. He was sorry for the lad’s sake that Harriet was
+not here. Clifford, it seems, looks to her coming with great eagerness.
+’Tis his one hope of life, the doctor thinks.”
+
+Peggy fell into silence. The night was beautiful. One of those soft
+balmy nights that come sometimes in the early spring, leading one to
+thoughts of summer joys. But its sweet influence was not felt by these
+two. One idea possessed the minds of both, and each waited for the other
+to give voice to it.
+
+“Mother,” spoke Peggy abruptly as they reached the stoop of their own
+dwelling, “thee means that one of us must go to my Cousin Clifford,
+doesn’t thee?”
+
+“Yes; one of us must go,” answered her mother. “One must remain here to
+have the house in readiness for David should he have need of it. The
+other must respond to the poor lad’s appeal for his kinsmen.”
+
+“’Twill mean more whispers against our patriotism, will it not, mother?”
+
+“It cannot be helped, Peggy. If others choose to believe ill of us for
+doing a deed of mercy then we must pay no heed. We must so order our
+conduct that our friends will know that we are loyal to the cause, even
+though we do minister to an English cousin. The others matter not. ’Tis
+David’s kin who calls, and not to heed the call were to be false to the
+dictates of humanity. And now which one of us shall go, Peggy?”
+
+“Mother, I must be the one, of course. Thee must be here to look after
+affairs and in case father should have need of thee. I will go. I knew
+that I must as soon as Sally told her news. But oh, mother! I have been
+home such a little while! What if something should happen to keep me
+from thee as it did before?”
+
+“Peggy, if thee talks like that I cannot let thee go,” exclaimed her
+mother. “If it were in either of the Carolinas I would not think of
+permitting it even to succor a poor wounded boy. It should take but a
+short time to go and come. I talked it over with the doctor. He had
+thought that Harriet might wish to go, and, not knowing of her
+departure, made arrangements whereby she might go with one of the nurses
+who hath been here on a furlough. She returns to-morrow in a cabriolet
+with her son. Thou art to take Harriet’s place. Thee will not mind,
+Peggy.”
+
+“No, mother. I shall murmur no more. ’Tis right to go. Thee will let
+Harriet know, though how she can do anything I see not. She will not be
+allowed to enter the lines again. What time doth the cabriolet with the
+nurse start? Should we not begin to prepare for the journey now?”
+
+And seeing her so willing to accept the charge the mother in Mrs. Owen
+would not down. She drew the girl in a close embrace.
+
+“If it were not right, Peggy,” she murmured. “If the doctor had not
+already prepared a place, or if I thought for a moment that harm would
+befall thee, I should not let thee go. But——”
+
+“Why, mother, there is naught else to do,” answered Peggy cheerfully.
+“Thee must not think of harm. I was foolish to give way, and so art
+thou, mother mine. Of course naught will happen, and it is the right
+thing to do. What shall I take? And we should have supplies also, should
+we not?”
+
+And with the Quaker habit of self-repression mother and daughter put
+aside their emotion to prepare for the coming journey.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X—FAREWELL TO HOME
+
+
+           “Such was the season when equipt we stood
+           On the green banks of Schuylkill’s winding flood,
+           A road immense, yet promised joys so dear,
+           That toils and doubts and dangers disappear.”
+
+                       —“The Foresters,” _Alexander Wilson_.
+
+“There are lint and bandages in the large bundle, Peggy. Dr. Cochran
+says they can scarce get enough of them. The hospitals as well as the
+departments of the army are in sore need of supplies. Ah me! the long,
+grim, weary years of fighting have made the people slow to respond to
+the necessities of our soldiers, and the Congress hath not the power to
+make levies. I would send sheets and pillow cases if there was room. We
+shall see when thy companion comes. The hamper is filled with jellies
+and delicacies. Thou wilt divide them with the other poor wounded ones.
+They will be glad of them, I make no doubt. And thy portmanteau is all
+packed, child. I think we have forgot nothing. There is but little time
+left to dress for the journey.”
+
+Mrs. Owen cast an anxious glance at the array of bundles as she
+enumerated them, locked the portmanteau, and gave the key to her
+daughter.
+
+“I know, mother, but it will not take me long. I will run down to the
+stables to say good-bye to Star now, and then dress. How I wish the dear
+thing could go too!”
+
+“I fear thee will have to be content without her for this time, Peggy.
+It will not be for long.”
+
+“True, mother,” assented the girl cheerfully. “And the very first thing
+I shall do when I come back will be to take a long, long gallop. I will
+be gone just a moment.”
+
+She ran out of the room as she finished speaking, and without pausing
+for even a passing glance at the trees or the terrace, went swiftly
+through the orchard to the stables.
+
+“Thou dear thing!” she exclaimed laying her head on the mare’s silky
+mane. “I do wish thee was going with me. Thee has been my companion
+through so many jaunts that I don’t feel quite right at leaving thee.
+Oh, I do wish thee was going!”
+
+The little mare whinnied and rubbed her nose gently against her young
+mistress as though she too would like to go. Peggy stroked her softly.
+
+“I do wish thee was going,” she said again. “Then no matter what
+happened I would always have a way to get back to mother. Why, Peggy
+Owen!” she exclaimed as the full import of the words she had just spoken
+came to her. “What whimsies have beset thy brain that thou shouldst say
+that? What could happen? Thee must not get the megrims, Peggy, before
+thee has started. There, Star! I must not linger with thee. Now I have
+kissed thee just on the spot that gave thee thy name. Thou wilt remember
+thou art to give me a good ride when I come back.”
+
+Peggy gave a last lingering caress to her pet, and turned reluctantly to
+leave her. As she did so she found herself face to face with Sally Evans
+and Betty Williams.
+
+“We thought we should find thee here,” cried Sally. “When the doctor
+told me that thee was to go down to see Harriet’s brother, I went for
+Betty at once. We came to see thee off.”
+
+“Oh, Peggy, I think thee has the most luck,” grumbled Betty. “The South
+hath all the fighting, and thee is going right there.”
+
+“Why, no, Betty,” corrected Peggy with a laugh. “The fighting is in the
+Carolinas, and I go only to Virginia. There is no warfare there. I
+should not go if there were.”
+
+“Well, I should, and I had the chance. I suppose Virginia is not
+Carolina,” went on Betty, who was hazy about her geography, “but ’tis
+much nearer than Philadelphia. I do think, Peggy Owen, that thee has the
+most delightsome adventures in the world,” she ended with a sigh.
+
+“I am afraid that it will not be very pleasant to go to a cousin who is
+dying,” returned Peggy soberly. “Come, girls! ’tis time for me to dress.
+Let us go to my room. I am to go with a nurse and her escort. She hath
+been up here on a visit, and ’tis fortunate that she returns just at
+this time.”
+
+“I knew thee would go just as soon as I knew that Harriet was not here,”
+said Sally, winding her arm about her waist. “There was naught else to
+do.”
+
+“That was what mother and I thought, Sally. Would that I had thy skill
+and experience in nursing. Then perchance I could bring my cousin back
+to health.”
+
+“Well, thee shouldn’t want to, Peggy,” cried Betty. “Look how the
+British treat our poor fellows when they are wounded. Yet we treat our
+prisoners as though they were friends, and not enemies. I get out of
+patience with Sally here when I see her so good to them when any are
+brought into the hospital wounded. And why does thee do it, Sally?”
+
+“To make them ashamed of themselves,” answered Sally promptly. “They
+look upon us as provincials and almost barbarians. When they find us
+actuated by feelings of humanity it begins in time to dawn upon them
+that they are dealing with kinsmen and brothers. Sometimes they are
+brought to such a keen realization of this that they refuse longer to
+fight us, and so leave the army. I have reasoned with some of them,” she
+ended demurely.
+
+“I’ll warrant thee has,” laughed Peggy.
+
+Thus chatting the girls walked slowly to the house, and then up to
+Peggy’s own little room where they began to help the latter to dress for
+the journey. She was ready presently, and then Sally cleared her throat
+in an oratorical manner.
+
+“Mistress Peggy Owen,” she began, untying with a flourish a small
+package which had escaped Peggy’s notice, “on behalf of The Social
+Select Circle, of which thee is an honored member, I present thee with
+this diary with the injunction that thou art to record within its pages
+everything that befalls thee from the time of thy leaving until the day
+of thy homecoming.”
+
+“All and everything,” supplemented Betty eagerly.
+
+“Why, girls, ’tis beautiful,” cried Peggy pleased and surprised by the
+gift. “It is sweet to be so remembered, and if The Circle wishes me to
+set down all the happenings of my journey, I will do so with pleasure.
+But there will be no adventures. ’Tis not to be expected on such a
+jaunt.”
+
+“Every jaunt holds possibilities,” observed Sally sententiously. “When
+thee was away before, look at all that befell; yet we have not heard the
+half of what happened because thee forgot. Now if thou wilt write every
+day in this little book for the benefit of thy friends The Circle can
+enjoy thy journey as well as thou.”
+
+“I’ll do it,” promised Peggy. “But you must not expect much. I shall be
+gone such a short time that you girls will scarcely have begun to miss
+me ere I shall be home again. ’Twill be a sad journey, I fear.”
+
+“But thy cousin may get well,” interposed Betty. “Just think of the
+romance contained in an unknown cousin. The relationship is just near
+enough to be interesting,” she ended with such a languishing air that
+both Peggy and Sally shook her.
+
+“Such an utterance from a member of The Social Select Circle,” rebuked
+Peggy. “I’m surprised at thee, Betty.”
+
+“Oh, the edict against the other sex is revoked now,” declared Betty.
+“And didn’t we always have better times when Robert was with us than
+when we were alone?”
+
+“We wouldn’t now, though,” answered Sally. “He doesn’t speak French,
+Betty.”
+
+“Sally, thee is dreadful! Don’t listen to her, Peggy. She is always
+trying to tease.”
+
+“I shall not, Betty,” consoled Peggy, casting a mischievous glance at
+Sally. “Never mind. Thee is patriotic, anyway.”
+
+“How?” asked Sally as Betty, foreseeing some further jest, would not
+speak.
+
+“By helping to cement the French Alliance, of course,” laughed Peggy.
+
+“Thee is worse than Sally,” pouted Betty turning to look out of the
+window. “Peggy, is thee to go in a one-horse cabriolet? Because there is
+one coming up Chestnut Street now. Let me see! A woman is within and it
+is driven by a young man. Heigh-ho! ’Tis a promising outlook. There is a
+baggage wagon following with two men on the seat. Thee will be well
+escorted, Miss Peggy Owen.”
+
+“It must be the nurse,” exclaimed Peggy. “And mother is calling, too.
+Come, girls.”
+
+They ran lightly down-stairs, and soon Mrs. Johnson, the nurse, was
+shown in. She was a large, motherly-looking woman of middle age, with a
+pleasant smile and kind eyes. Peggy felt drawn to her at once.
+
+“And so this is to be my young companion,” she said, drawing the girl
+toward her as Mrs. Owen presented her daughter. “I predict that we shall
+be great friends, my dear. Of a truth ’twas most pleasing news when the
+doctor told me that I should have your company. The journey is long,
+’twill take all of ten days to reach Williamsburg, so that unless there
+is conversation to enliven the way, ’tis apt to be most tedious. Now,
+Fairfax, my son, is an excellent escort but an indifferent talker. He
+looks well to the needs of the horses, and we shall not suffer for lack
+of attention, save and except conversation from him. That we shall have
+to furnish ourselves.”
+
+“The cabriolet is somewhat light to carry three persons,” observed Mrs.
+Owen reflectively as she returned from carrying out some bundles to the
+baggage wagon.
+
+“We considered that, madam, but Fairfax will ride part of the time in
+the baggage wagon when the roads become so rough that the load seems
+heavy for the horse. ’Tis too bad that he has not his horse with him,
+but we knew not when we came that we were to have the pleasure of Miss
+Peggy’s company on our return. We shall manage nicely, I dare say. The
+two men in the baggage wagon are an addition also that we did not
+expect. They have charge of some supplies for the hospital which Dr.
+Cochran is sending with us. I was glad to have them. ’Tis more agreeable
+in a long journey to have a party.”
+
+“Mother!” breathed Peggy, her eyes glowing with the idea. “Could not the
+young man ride Star?”
+
+“I was just thinking of that, my child,” said Mrs. Owen with an
+indulgent smile. “’Tis in truth a way opened for thee to take thy pony.”
+
+“Do you indeed mean that Fairfax may ride a horse of yours, my dear?”
+questioned Nurse Johnson, rising. “Why, that is most welcome news. You
+are generous.”
+
+“Nay,” protested Peggy. “I thought mostly of myself, I fear; I wish very
+much to have my little mare with me, and I do not deserve thy praise,
+friend nurse——” She paused in some confusion. “I should say Mrs.
+Johnson.”
+
+“Nay; let it be friend nurse,” replied the good woman laughing. “I think
+I like it. And I shall call you Peggy. And your own saddle can be put in
+the baggage wagon, and you can take a little gallop occasionally to
+relieve the monotony of riding.”
+
+“Thee relieves me of all fear that Peggy will not be well taken care
+of,” declared Mrs. Owen as the two left the room. “And sheets, friend?
+Has thee plenty of them? If there is room I could give thee a number.”
+
+The nurse’s eyes filled with tears.
+
+“We have need of everything, madam,” she said. “’Twill gladden our
+hearts to receive anything in the nature of supplies.”
+
+They were ready at last, and Peggy approached her girl friends for a
+last good-bye.
+
+“Thee has a silent knight for thy escort, Peggy,” whispered Betty
+through her tears, with a glance in the direction of Nurse Johnson’s
+son, who had not spoken to them. “Be sure to write in the diary if he
+speaks to thee at all through the journey. And mind! thee must put down
+the very words he says.”
+
+“Betty, Betty, thee is grown frivolous,” expostulated Peggy. “Sally,
+thee must deal with her severely.”
+
+“She shall help me to care for the next doughty Englishman that comes to
+the hospital,” declared Sally. “Still, Peggy, if the young man should
+break his silence ’twould be naught amiss to record the happening, for
+the delectation of The Circle.”
+
+“Thee is as bad as Betty, Sally. I shall keep the diary right with me,
+girls, and put down whatever of interest occurs.”
+
+“And thou wilt send word of thy safe arrival as soon as thou canst, my
+child,” said Mrs. Owen, holding her close. “If such a thing should be
+that thy cousin recovers we will see what can be done anent his coming
+here. And now farewell!”
+
+Peggy clung to her without replying, and then quietly took her place in
+the cabriolet beside the nurse. She smiled bravely at them, and as the
+cabriolet started she leaned out and waved farewell as long as she could
+see her mother.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI—ON THE ROAD
+
+
+             “The rolling world is girdled with the sound,
+               Perpetually breathed from all who dwell
+             Upon its bosom, for no place is found
+               Where is not heard, ‘Farewell.’”
+
+                                           —Celia Thaxter.
+
+As the little caravan turned from Chestnut Street into Seventh so that
+she could no longer see her home Peggy’s lips quivered, and it was with
+difficulty that she refrained from bursting into tears.
+
+“Give not way to idle grief at our parting,” her mother had admonished
+her. “Thee will have need of all thy fortitude to attend thy cousin, and
+’twere sinful to waste thy strength in weeping.”
+
+With this counsel in mind the girl struggled bravely against her
+emotion, and presently, wiping her eyes, turned toward the nurse. For
+youth is ever buoyant, and it is not natural for it to give way long to
+sadness. They had passed the Bettering House by this time and were well
+on their way toward the lower ferry.
+
+“Thee will think me but a dull companion, I fear, friend nurse,” she
+said. “But I grieve to leave my mother even for so short a time. In
+truth, I have but recently returned home after a long absence.”
+
+“Partings are always sad, my child, even when they are but for a few
+days,” replied Nurse Johnson sympathetically. “I felt just so when I
+bade my sister farewell this morning. We had not seen each other for ten
+years until I came for this visit, and ’tis like to be as long again
+before we get another glimpse of each other if this fearful war
+continues. In times such as these separation from loved ones is fraught
+with more than the usual sorrow; for one never knows what will happen.
+But you have borne up bravely, child. I feared a scene. Most girls would
+have treated me to such. You have the making of a good nurse, Peggy,
+with such control.”
+
+“’Tis another time that I merit not thy praise,” explained the maiden.
+“’Tis all due to mother. She cautioned me about giving way to my
+feelings, thinking that I would need my strength for the journey.”
+
+“Your mother is right,” said Nurse Johnson soberly. “The way is long and
+we shall have much ado to beguile the tediousness of it. As a beginning,
+can you tell me if those earthworks yonder are the remains of British
+entrenchments?”
+
+“Yes,” answered the girl. “Traces of their lines are still discoverable
+in many places about the city. If thee rode out the Bristol road at all
+thee must have seen a large redoubt which commands the Delaware. Its
+parapet is considered of great elegance, though there are those that
+contend that the parapet was constructed with more regard to ornament
+than for fortification. Just this side of the battery are the barracks
+they built.”
+
+“And were you in the city when they held possession?”
+
+“No. Mother and I were at Strawberry Hill, our farm on the Wissahickon.
+Thee should have seen our city before the enemy held it, friend nurse.
+There were great trees all along the banks of the Schuylkill here which
+were called the Governor’s Woods. The English cut them down for
+fire-wood, and to help build their fortifications. And so many of our
+beautiful country places were burned.”
+
+“’Tis so all over the land, my child,” returned the nurse sadly. “War
+leaves a train of wrecked and desolated homes wherever it is waged. We
+of Virginia have been fortunate so far to escape a wholesale ravage of
+the state. True, there have been some predatory incursions, but the
+state as a whole has not been overrun by the enemy. If General Greene
+can continue to hold Lord Cornwallis’ attention in the Carolinas we may
+not suffer as those states have.”
+
+Thus she spoke, for no one imagined at this time that Virginia would
+soon become the center of activities. And so chatting they crossed the
+river, and by noon were in Chester, where they baited their horses and
+refreshed themselves for the afternoon journey.
+
+It was spring. The smooth road wound beneath the budding foliage of the
+forest. The air was fresh and balmy, and laden with the perfume of
+flowers and leaves. The sky was blue, and Peggy followed with delight
+the flight of a hawk across its azure. Robins flew about merrily, with
+red breasts shaken by melodious chirpings, and brilliant plumage
+burnished by the sunlight. The maiden began to feel a keen enjoyment of
+the drive, and chatted and laughed with an abandon foreign to her usual
+quiet demeanor.
+
+They lay at Wilmington, Delaware, that night, and early the next morning
+were up and away again. Mindful of her new diary Peggy recorded her
+impressions of the country through which she passed for the benefit of
+her friends of The Social Select Circle.
+
+“The country is beautiful,” she wrote enthusiastically on the fourth day
+of her journey after passing from Wilmington through Newcastle, and Head
+of the Elk, and crossing the Susquehanna River. “Though it seems to me
+more sandy than Pennsylvania. I think this must arise from being so near
+the coast. The Susquehanna is very broad at this crossing, but it cannot
+compare with the Delaware for limpidness and whiteness. Nor are its
+banks so agreeable in appearance. To-morrow we enter Baltimore, which I
+long to see, for Nurse Johnson says ’tis a monstrously fine city.
+
+“‘And is thee going to tell us naught but about the country, Peggy?’ I
+hear thee complain, Betty Williams. Know then, thou foolish Betty, that
+the ‘Silent Knight,’ as thee dubbed him, hath not yet broken that
+silence. Each morning he bows very gravely and deeply. Oh, a most ornate
+obeisance! Thee should see it. This I return in my best manner, and the
+ceremony for the day is over. If he hath aught to communicate he seeks
+his mother at the inns where we stop for refreshments. Truly he is a lad
+beset by shyness.
+
+“‘And where is thy tongue, Peggy?’ I hear thee ask.
+
+“Well, it may be that I shall use it if he does not speak soon. Such
+shyness doth engender boldness in us females. Will that please thee,
+thou saucy Betty?”
+
+“Although,” soliloquized Peggy when she had made this entry, “it may not
+be shyness at all, but wisdom. I have heard mother say that wise men are
+not great talkers, so when the young man does speak I make no doubt but
+that his words will be full of matter. I must remember them verbatim,
+and set them down for the edification of The Circle.”
+
+They reached Baltimore that night instead of the next day; at so late an
+hour there was no time to see the little city. It was one of the most
+important places in the new states at this time, ranking after
+Philadelphia and Boston in size, and growing rapidly, having been made a
+port of entry the year before. There was a quarter composed entirely of
+Acadian families speaking nothing but French, Nurse Johnson told her,
+and Peggy made a particular note of the fact for Betty’s delectation.
+
+“Perchance when I return I can see more of it,” said the maiden
+philosophically as they were getting ready for their departure early the
+next morning.
+
+“I hope that you can, my dear,” said Nurse Johnson. “’Twill be a hard
+ride to-day, for we want to make Colchester by nightfall. I have a
+cousin there with whom we can stop, which will be vastly more
+pleasurable than to stay at an ordinary. If we do not make the place
+to-night there would be no time for visiting to-morrow.”
+
+The roads were good and hard, and the riding pleasant in the early
+morning. But as the day advanced the atmosphere became sultry, and Peggy
+was conscious of more fatigue than she had felt at any time through the
+journey.
+
+“Fairfax must change with you, and let you ride Star for a time,” spoke
+Mrs. Johnson, regarding her with solicitude. “I am sure that will rest
+you.”
+
+“I think it will,” answered Peggy. “I do feel just a little weary of the
+carriage, friend nurse. Perhaps thy son would like the change also? It
+must be lonely for him riding all alone.”
+
+Nurse Johnson laughed as she caught the girl’s look.
+
+“You must not mind his not talking,” she said. “I think he hath never
+spoken to a girl in his life. Still, he is a good son, for all his
+shyness.”
+
+The change to Star’s back was made, and they started forward at renewed
+speed. Peggy’s spirits rose as she found herself on the little mare, and
+she rode ahead of the vehicle sometimes, or sometimes alongside of it
+chatting gayly. So pleasantly did the time pass that none of them
+noticed that the sky had become overcast with clouds. A heavy drop of
+rain falling upon her face compelled the girl’s attention.
+
+“Why, ’tis raining,” she exclaimed in surprise.
+
+“There’s going to be a thunder-storm,” cried Nurse Johnson viewing the
+clouds in dismay. “How suddenly it hath come up. Fairfax, we must put in
+at the nearest plantation. Let Peggy get back in with me so that she
+will not get wet. Then we must make speed.”
+
+The lad got out of the vehicle obediently, and approached the girl to
+assist her from the horse. As she sprang lightly to the ground, he gazed
+at her earnestly for a moment as though realizing the necessity of
+speech, and said:
+
+“It looks like rain.”
+
+As he spoke the far horizon was illuminated by a succession of lurid
+flashes of lightning which shone with fiery brilliancy against the black
+masses of thunder-clouds. The muttering of thunder told that the storm
+was almost upon them. The fact was so evident that no living being could
+deny it. The lad’s observation differed so from what she had expected
+from him that there was no help for it, and Peggy gave way to a peal of
+merry laughter.
+
+“I cry thee pardon, Friend Fairfax,” she gasped. “It doth indeed look
+like rain.”
+
+For a second the young fellow stood as though not realizing the full
+import of what he had said, and then, as heavy drops began to patter
+rapidly through the trees, the girl’s merriment infected him and he too
+burst into laughter.
+
+“It is raining,” he corrected himself, which remark but added to the
+girl’s mirth.
+
+“Where are we?” asked his mother as Peggy took her place beside her.
+
+“We are near His Excellency’s plantation, mother.”
+
+“His Excellency?” cried Peggy. “Do you mean General Washington’s house,
+friend nurse?”
+
+“To be sure, Peggy,” said Mrs. Johnson glancing about her. “Mount Vernon
+lies just beyond us on our left. We must put in there.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII—THE HOME OF WASHINGTON
+
+
+                 “By broad Potowmack’s azure tide,
+                 Where Vernon’s Mount in sylvan pride,
+                   Displays its beauties fair.”
+
+                               —“Ode to Mount Vernon,”
+                                      David Humphreys.
+
+“Oh, I wonder if Lady Washington hath returned yet from headquarters,”
+cried Peggy so interested in the fact that she might again behold that
+lady that she forgot that it was raining. “I would like so much to see
+her! I knew her quite well at Middlebrook in New Jersey when the army
+lay there for winter quarters two years ago. Mother and I were there
+with father.”
+
+“’Tis early for her to return from headquarters, is it not?” asked the
+nurse, touching the horse lightly with the whip. “Methinks that I have
+heard her say that she always heard the first and last guns of a
+campaign; and campaigns do not begin in April at the North.”
+
+“True,” said Peggy. “Then will it not be an intrusion to go there during
+her absence?”
+
+“Intrusion to escape a thunder-storm?” laughed Mrs. Johnson. “Hardly, my
+child. We should be welcome even though we did not seek to avoid a
+drenching. The general hath left orders with his overseer, Mr. Lund
+Washington, that hospitality should be extended to every one the same as
+though he were there in person. Then too every one in this part of the
+country goes to Mount Vernon for help in every sort of distress. Oh,
+yes! we shall be very welcome.”
+
+“Mount Vernon?” mused the girl. “I wonder why ’tis so called? We call
+our country home ‘Strawberry Hill,’ but that is because of the vast
+quantities of strawberries that grow there. I see not why the general
+should call his place Mount Vernon.”
+
+“I can enlighten you as to that, Peggy. The estate formerly belonged to
+his half-brother, Lawrence Washington. He too was of a military turn,
+and served with Admiral Vernon of the British Navy in an expedition
+against Carthagena in South America. He married Anne Fairfax on his
+return, and built this house on the estate left him by his father. So
+great was his admiration for the gallant admiral that he called his home
+Mount Vernon, in his honor. There was but one child born of the union,
+and on her death General George Washington, who was a great favorite
+with his brother, became his heir. Lawrence died also, so the general
+came into possession. He hath left the place much as his brother had it,
+though he contemplates its enlargement when relieved of military duty, I
+hear. My husband’s mother was of the Fairfax family, which is the reason
+my son is so called. ’Tis the fashion among Virginians to give family
+names to their children. There! we are going to be caught by the storm
+after all!”
+
+There came a vivid flash of lightning followed by a deafening peal of
+thunder as she finished speaking. Their horse reared in affright, then
+plunged forward in a terrified run. The storm was upon them in all its
+fury. The rain beat into the cabriolet from all sides, and soon they
+abandoned any effort to keep dry. It seemed to Peggy that she had never
+seen such a storm before, and never had she been out in such a one. The
+rain came down in torrents. Flash after flash of dazzling light darted
+across the sky, accompanied by a continuous roar of thunder like the
+discharge of artillery. It was impossible to hear each other speak, so
+they drew close together, the nurse controlling the horse as best she
+could.
+
+Suddenly as they ascended a small steep hill from the edge of a wild
+ravine the mansion with all its surroundings came into view. Peggy
+forgot that her garments were wet through and through; forgot that it
+was raining so hard that the outlines of the dwelling were blurred and
+indistinct, and leaned forward eagerly to see the home of General
+Washington.
+
+Stately trees shaded the lodges which stood on each side of the entrance
+gate; and, as they drove through, a colored boy darted from one of the
+lodges and taking hold of the bridle rein ran abreast of the animal with
+them to the dwelling.
+
+The villa, as General Washington called it, was at this time not so
+large as it is now, the general having enlarged and added to the mansion
+after the Revolution. It was, however, a house of the first class then
+occupied by thrifty Virginia planters; of the old gable-roofed style,
+two stories in height, with a porch in front, and a chimney built
+inside, at each end, contrary to the prevailing custom. It stood upon a
+most lovely spot, on the brow of a gentle slope which ended at a thickly
+wooded precipitous river bank, its summit nearly one hundred feet above
+the water. Before it swept the Potomac with a magnificent curve, and
+beyond the broad river lay the green fields and shadowy forests of
+Maryland.
+
+The door opened as the carriage reached the porch, and a man came
+hastily to their assistance. He said not a word until they were safely
+within the entrance hall, and then he turned to Nurse Johnson with a
+smile.
+
+“Well, well, Hannah Johnson,” he said. “Who would ever have thought of
+seeing you here? Quite a little sprinkle we’re having.”
+
+“I should say it was a sprinkle, Lund Washington,” retorted Nurse
+Johnson, gazing ruefully at her wet clothing. “It strikes me more like a
+baptism; and you know I don’t hold with immersion.”
+
+“I know,” he said laughing. “Never mind. We’ll soon get you fixed up.”
+Mr. Lund Washington was General Washington’s relative, who had charge of
+the estate while the owner was away to the war.
+
+At this moment a pleasant-faced, plump little woman came bustling into
+the hall, and hastened to greet them.
+
+“I could not come sooner, Hannah,” she said. “I was making a lettuce
+tart which we are to have for supper. Come right up-stairs, both of you,
+and change that wet clothing. Nay, my child,” as Peggy mindful of her
+dripping garments hesitated. “It doth not matter about the dripping. All
+that concerns us is to get you both into dry garments.”
+
+With such a welcome Peggy felt at home at once, and followed the
+overseer’s wife obediently up the broad stairway to one of the chambers
+above. Mrs. Washington went to a chest of drawers and drew forth some
+folded garments.
+
+“These are just the things for you, my dear,” she said. “They were
+Martha’s, and will fit you exceedingly well.”
+
+“I thank thee,” said Peggy taking them reverently, for Martha had been
+Lady Washington’s only daughter, and she had been told of her early
+death.
+
+“I see you are a Quakeress,” said Mrs. Washington pleasantly. “We have
+many such down here, though not so many as are in your state. How vastly
+the frock becomes her. Doth it not, Hannah?”
+
+“It does indeed,” replied Nurse Johnson glancing at the girl with
+approval. “Child, you should never wear aught but colors. You were never
+made for the quiet garb of your sect.”
+
+“Some of our Society are not so strict anent such matters as they might
+be,” Peggy told them, a smile coming to her lips as she recalled the
+numerous rebukes concerning gay apparel given by the elders at the
+meetings. “’Tis only of late that I have dressed so quietly.”
+
+“Now, my dear,” spoke Mrs. Washington, setting a dainty lace cap on the
+maiden’s dark hair, “look in the mirror, and see if the result doth not
+please you.”
+
+“It pleases me well,” answered Peggy surveying her reflection with a
+smile. “In truth it hath been long since I have been arrayed so gayly.
+Mother doth not approve of much dressing while the war lasts.”
+
+“Your mother is right,” concurred the lady with warmth. “Mrs. Washington
+feels just the same about the matter. Still, I doubt if your mother
+would remain of that opinion were she to see you now. Would that she
+could, or that a limner[[6]] were here to depict your likeness.”
+
+In truth the girl made a charming picture in the dainty frock of
+dove-colored Persian flowered with roses of cherry hue, and finished
+with a frill of soft lace from which her white throat rose fair and
+girlish. A pair of high-heeled red slippers completed the costume, and
+Peggy would have been more than human if her eyes had not brightened,
+and her cheeks flushed at her image in the mirror.
+
+Mrs. Washington led them at once to the great dining-room, where they
+found Mr. Washington, and young Fairfax Johnson who had arrived a short
+time after them. The storm had ceased, but the clouds still hung dark
+and lowering, producing an early twilight. A house servant was just
+lighting the myrtle-berry candles in the lusters as they entered the
+room, and the light glinted from the floor, scoured to a shining
+whiteness. The blacks brought in the supper immediately, and the little
+party gathered about the table informally. Peggy found herself seated
+beside Fairfax Johnson.
+
+A spirit of mischief seized her, and made her sit silent, waiting for
+him to speak.
+
+“For,” she thought roguishly, “’twill never do in the world to have
+naught to record for the girls but those two remarks, ‘It looks like
+rain,’ and ‘It is raining.’ If I do not speak he must, or else be guilty
+of discourtesy.”
+
+Her patience was soon rewarded. The youth struggled bravely with his
+bashfulness, and presently turned to her.
+
+“It hath stopped raining,” he said.
+
+Peggy’s dimples came suddenly, and her eyes twinkled, but she answered
+demurely:
+
+“It hath, Friend Fairfax, for which I am glad. It was a severe storm.
+Did thee get very wet?”
+
+“Yes,” he answered. “It rained hard.”
+
+“Oh, dear!” thought the girl. “Will he never have anything to say except
+about that rain? I wonder what Betty would do? Such a nice lad should be
+broken of his shyness.” Then aloud: “And Star, friend? Is she all
+right?”
+
+“Yes. Didn’t seem to mind it a bit, after the first scare. Did you get
+wet?”
+
+“Yes. Monstrously so,” replied Peggy, surprised that he was doing so
+well. “He won’t need any help if this continues,” was her mental
+comment. Then, “Mrs. Washington gave me some of Lady Washington’s
+daughter’s clothes to wear. They just fit me. Was she not kind?”
+
+“Very,” he answered briefly. “If—if getting wet always makes you look
+like you do to-night you had better get wet every day,” he blurted out
+abruptly, and then turned from her decidedly, blushing furiously.
+
+Peggy caught her breath at the suddenness of the thing, and colored
+also.
+
+“Peggy, Peggy,” she chided herself reproachfully. “Thee should not have
+spoke about thy frock. No doubt the lad deemed it duty to say something
+of the kind to thee. ’Twas not seemly in thee. And how shall I answer
+him?”
+
+She was saved the necessity of a reply, however, by Mr. Washington, who
+said:
+
+“You are quite well acquainted with the general and his wife, Hannah
+tells me, Miss Peggy. If ’twould please you to see something of the
+estate I will take you about a little in the morning before you start.
+You should see something of the place while you are in these parts.”
+
+“Oh, I should be pleased,” cried Peggy her animation returning at this.
+“Thee is very kind, sir.”
+
+“The pleasure will be mine,” was the courteous reply.
+
+And so it happened that Peggy rose betimes the next morning, but early
+as she deemed it Mr. Washington was awaiting her. He had a little pony
+saddled and bridled ready for her to mount.
+
+“We will have time for a short look about before breakfast,” he said
+kindly. “’Tis my custom to ride to all the farms through the day, as the
+general does when he is home. ’Twould take too long for us to do that,
+but you can form an idea of the extent of the plantation by this
+détour.”
+
+Thanking him Peggy mounted, and they set off at a brisk pace. All trace
+of the storm had passed save a dewy freshness of the air, and the
+wetness of the grass. The sun was shining with all the warmth and
+brightness of an April day in Virginia. The birds were twittering amid
+the new-born leaves, and the hyacinths and tulips were coming to their
+glory in the gardens. The smiles of cultivation were on every hand, and
+the air was heavy with the perfume of growing things after a rain.
+
+The grounds in the immediate vicinity of the mansion were laid out in
+the English taste, Mr. Washington told her. The estate itself consisted
+of ten thousand acres which were apportioned into farms, devoted to
+different kinds of culture, each having its allotted laborers. Much,
+however, was still wild woodland, seamed with deep dells and runs of
+water, and indentured with inlets; haunts of deer and lurking places of
+foxes. The whole woody region along the Potomac with its forest and
+range of hills afforded sports of various kinds, and was a noble hunting
+ground.
+
+The girl found that the plantation was a little empire in itself. The
+mansion house was the seat of government, with dependencies, such as
+kitchens, smoke-houses, work-shops and stables. There were numerous
+house servants for domestic service, and a host of field negroes for the
+culture of the crops. Their quarters formed a kind of hamlet apart,
+composed of various huts with little gardens and poultry yards, all well
+stocked, and swarming with little darkies gamboling in the sunshine.
+
+Among the slaves were artificers of all kinds: tailors, shoemakers,
+carpenters, wheelwrights, smiths, and so on; so that the plantation
+produced everything within itself for ordinary use. The time was too
+short to permit of Peggy’s seeing more than a small part of the whole,
+but she saw enough to permit of an estimate of the estate. As they
+returned to the mansion Mr. Washington assisted her to dismount, saying
+as he did so:
+
+“No view of Mount Vernon is complete without a look at the Potomac from
+the wharf, Miss Peggy. You will just have time for that before the call
+comes for breakfast. Be quick; for yonder comes Mrs. Washington, and she
+won’t want the cakes to cool.”
+
+“I will be back in a minute,” cried Peggy catching his mood. Laughing
+gayly she ran swiftly across the sward under the trees and on to the
+wharf, which lay a little below the mansion, in front of the deer park.
+
+“This is the place in truth for a fine view,” commented the girl as she
+reached the extreme end of the wharf. “Peggy, take a good long look.
+Thee will never have another chance, I fear. Heigh-ho! what will the
+girls say to this? ’Twill take the most of three pages in the diary to
+transcribe the half of this momentous day. It is a beautiful river,
+though of course I am partial to my own Delaware. No wonder the general
+loves his home. How the river winds and curves——Why!”
+
+Peggy stopped short in her musings, and opened her eyes wide in
+surprise; for a large ship was bearing directly toward the wharf. For a
+moment she gazed, and then, as the ship veered slightly in her course,
+she caught sight of the flag at the taffrail. And at sight of that flag
+every drop of color left her face. For the flag was the emblem of
+England, and the ship was headed for Mount Vernon.
+
+-----
+[6] Portrait-painter.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII—THE APPEARANCE OF THE ENEMY
+
+
+              “The word went forth from the throne:
+                ‘Reap down their crops with your swords!
+                  Harry! ravage!
+                Hound on the rage of your hireling hordes,
+                  Hessian and savage!’”
+
+                                   —Leonard Woolsey Bacon.
+
+For one long moment the girl stood staring at that flag, so stricken
+with terror as to be incapable of motion. Too well she knew the meanings
+of its presence. The descent of a British ship upon any part of the
+coast at this time brought destruction and ruin to all that lay in its
+path. Fire and sword, ravage and waste followed in its wake. And this
+was a British cruiser, and it was headed for Mount Vernon. Peggy wrung
+her hands in anguish and a sob broke from her lips.
+
+“Oh, the general’s home! The general’s beautiful home will be burned!”
+
+With the words came a realization of the necessity for action. With an
+effort she threw off the numbing dread that beset her, and turning fled
+swiftly to the mansion. As she reached the porch Mr. Lund Washington
+came to the door.
+
+“You are just in time,” he called cheerily. “Breakfast is ready, and
+Mrs. Washington feared if you lingered much longer ’twould be cold. Is
+not the view——Why! what hath happened?” he broke off catching sight of
+her pale face.
+
+“The British!” panted Peggy. “The British are coming up the river!”
+
+With an exclamation of alarm Mr. Washington sprang past her and hurried
+toward the wharf. At the same moment cries and shouts rent the air and
+from all over the plantation the negroes came running. Some were ashen
+with terror, and ran into the house weeping and wailing. The bolder
+spirits gathered on the banks of the river to watch the approach of the
+vessel. From the mansion came Mrs. Lund Washington and Mrs. Johnson,
+alarmed by the outcries and uproar of the darkies.
+
+“And what is it, my dear?” asked Mrs. Washington as Peggy sank weakly on
+the steps of the porch. “Why are you so pale? Know you the cause of the
+commotion?”
+
+“It’s the British,” repeated the maiden fearfully. “A British ship is
+coming.”
+
+“A British ship!” Each woman’s face paled at the words. They were
+fraught with such awful meaning. They too stood stricken as Peggy had
+been with terror. Then Mrs. Washington spoke calmly, but it was with the
+calmness of despair:
+
+“Let us not despond. It may be that they will exempt this place from
+destruction. Let us hope.”
+
+“No,” said Peggy with conviction. “They will not spare it. ’Tis our
+general’s home. They have tried so many times to capture him; there have
+been so many plots to kill him, or for his betrayal, that anything that
+can strike a blow at his heart will be used. I fear, oh, I fear the
+worst!”
+
+Meantime the cruiser drew up alongside the wharf. As soon as the vessel
+was made fast the captain stepped ashore and approached the spot where
+Mr. Lund Washington stood.
+
+“What plantation is this?” he demanded brusquely.
+
+“It is Mount Vernon,” replied the overseer.
+
+“Mount Vernon, eh? The seat of the rebel leader?”
+
+“It is General Washington’s home, sir,” was the reply.
+
+“So I thought, so I thought,” returned the officer with a chuckle. “Are
+you in charge here?”
+
+“Yes; I am Lund Washington, General George Washington’s relative, and
+represent him during his absence,” Mr. Washington informed him with
+dignity.
+
+“And I am Captain Graves of the English navy,” responded that officer
+pompously. “In command of the ‘Acteon’ there. Now, sir, I want breakfast
+for my crew, and that quickly. And then supplies: flour, corn, bacon,
+hams, poultry and whatever else there may be on the estate that will
+feed hungry soldiers. Now be quick about getting them.”
+
+“And if I refuse?” said Mr. Washington.
+
+“Refuse!” roared the officer. “If you refuse, by St. George I’ll burn
+every building on the place and run off all your negroes. Now do as you
+please about it.”
+
+Mr. Washington hesitated no longer.
+
+“I will comply with your demands,” he said simply. He would do anything
+rather than that the general should lose his home.
+
+“And mind,” called Captain Graves, “I want no dallying.”
+
+“There will be none,” answered the overseer quickening his footsteps.
+
+“Wife,” he said as he reached the porch where Peggy and the two women
+awaited him, “we must have breakfast for the crew as quick as it can be
+gotten. Do you see to it while I attend to what is wanted for supplies.”
+
+Peggy looked up in amazement, thinking that she had not heard aright.
+
+“Is thee going to give them breakfast and supplies from General
+Washington’s place, sir?” she asked.
+
+“I must, my child,” replied Lund Washington sadly. “The captain
+threatens to burn the houses, and run off with all the slaves if I do
+not. I cannot help myself. They would take what they want anyway.”
+
+“Then thee should let them take it,” cried Peggy excitedly. “The general
+won’t like for thee to feed the enemy from his stores. He won’t like it,
+friend.”
+
+“I am in charge of the property,” repeated the overseer. “If anything
+happens to the place while ’tis in my charge I will be responsible. I
+will comply with any reasonable demand rather than have the plantation
+razed.”
+
+“The general won’t like it,” Peggy reiterated in a low tone as Mr.
+Washington began to give orders to the slaves concerning the supplies
+while his wife hastened to see about breakfast. “He won’t like it. I
+know that he would rather have his home burned than that the enemy
+should be supplied from his plantation. Oh, I know he won’t approve of
+it.”
+
+“Lil’ missy’s right,” declared a venerable darky who stood near. “Marse
+George ain’t gwine ter laik hab’n de enemy fed offen his craps. ’Tain’t
+fitten dat he’d fight ’em, an’ feed ’em, too.”
+
+“That is just it,” declared the girl turning toward him quickly,
+surprised that a negro should grasp the point of honor affected. “What
+is thy name?” she added. “I should like to know it.”
+
+“Lawsy, missy! doan you know old Bishop?” said the old darky, bowing
+deeply. “Why, I wuz Marse George’s body sarvant all froo de French an’
+Indian Wahs. Bin wif him most ebbrywhar, old Bishop has. Too old to go
+enny mo’ dough, an’ so he has Mista Willum Lee to look aftah him. P’raps
+you might hab seen Mista Lee. A black, sassy nigga, lil’ missy.”
+
+“Yes,” answered Peggy smiling. “I know him, Bishop. I used to see him
+often at Middlebrook. And so thee is Bishop?”
+
+For Peggy had heard General Washington speak affectionately of his
+former body servant. Bishop was too old now for camp life, but he had,
+as he said, served General Washington through the French War. He was
+almost eighty years old now. There were deep furrows upon his cheeks,
+his hair was gray, and his form was bent by the weight of his years, but
+old Bishop knew his master’s heart, and knew that that master would
+rather lose his whole property than to have it succor the enemies of his
+country.
+
+So the venerable darky and the maiden watched with sorrow the labor of
+the slaves as they ran back and forth to the ship, laden with flour,
+hams, bacon from the storehouses; chickens, geese and turkeys from the
+poultry yards; fruits and vegetables from the cellars; while the air was
+filled with the shrill cries of swine being slaughtered.
+
+It was over at last. The crew had been fed; the ship was heavily laden
+with supplies, and with a sarcastic acknowledgment of their courtesy the
+captain weighed anchor and sailed away. And then the family sat down to
+a belated breakfast.
+
+The meal was a mere pretense, however, and soon after it the cabriolet
+was brought round, and Peggy and her companions set forth once more upon
+their journey.
+
+“I wish,” said Mrs. Johnson as they drove away from the mansion, “I wish
+you were safe at home, Peggy. I don’t believe that I am doing right in
+permitting you to go on.”
+
+“I must,” spoke Peggy quickly. “There is my cousin dying, friend nurse.
+I must go on. Does thee fear an invasion of the whole state?”
+
+“It looks as though the invasion were here, Peggy. Of course, it may be
+but a predatory incursion as others have been before, but I fear, I
+fear——” ended the good woman shaking her head.
+
+“How much longer will it be before we reach Williamsburg?” inquired the
+girl.
+
+“We should be there the fourth day from this,” replied Nurse Johnson.
+“Of course it may be the right thing for you to go on, as you are so
+near the end of the journey; but I do wish you were safe at home.”
+
+“I shall lose no time in returning after I have done all for my cousin
+that can be done,” declared Peggy. “I think mother would wish me to go
+on now, but when all is over——”
+
+“Then you must get back as quickly as possible,” said the nurse.
+
+After all Peggy and old Bishop were right regarding General Washington’s
+feelings concerning the raid on the plantation.
+
+“It would have been a less painful circumstance to me,” he wrote to his
+representative when he heard of the matter, “to have heard that, in
+consequence of your non-compliance with their request, they had burned
+my house and laid my plantation in ruins.”
+
+So sensitive was this man concerning anything that would seem to touch
+his honor.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV—THE JOURNEY’S END
+
+
+           “Thy love shall chant its own beatitudes
+           After its own life working...
+           A poor man served by thee shall make thee rich;
+           A sick man helped by thee shall make thee strong;
+           Thou shalt be served thyself by every sense
+           Of service which thou renderest.”
+
+                                —Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
+
+Late afternoon of the fourth day after leaving Mount Vernon found the
+little party drawing near to the lowland city of Williamsburg. The road
+had no other travelers than themselves. There were no more thick woods,
+the road running in a blaze of sunshine past clumps of cedars, and
+wayside tangles of blackberry, sumac and elder bushes.
+
+Presently the spires of churches and the roofs of several large
+buildings came into sight, clustered in one small spot, as it seemed to
+Peggy, until they entered the town itself, when they receded to their
+proper distances. The maiden leaned forward eagerly to see the place,
+for she had heard much of its gayety and fashion.
+
+One broad unpaved street was the main thoroughfare of the town. It was
+very straight, shaded by mulberry and poplar trees, and ran for a
+measured mile from the Capitol at one end to the goodly college of
+William and Mary at the other. Houses, vine-clad, with wide porticoes
+and large gardens, bordered it, and two or three narrower streets
+debouched from it.
+
+“This is the Duke of Gloucester Street, my dear,” explained Nurse
+Johnson as they entered the broad thoroughfare. “Yonder lies the Capitol
+where the courts convene. Once it was the center of all the legislation
+of the state, but all that is past since the capital hath been removed
+to Richmond.”
+
+“Hath it?” exclaimed Peggy in surprise. “I did not know it. When was it,
+friend nurse?”
+
+“’Twas done two years ago,” responded the nurse sadly. “Williamsburg was
+deemed too accessible to the enemy, so the government was removed to
+Richmond. I doubt not that we should be thankful, since the British did
+march for the capital in their late invasion of the state. The worst
+feature of the matter is that the traitor, Arnold, led the force that
+sacked and burned Richmond in January. No doubt ’twould have been our
+fate had the government still been here. Look well at the college,
+Peggy. It hath sent forth many of the men who are of prominence in the
+nation.”
+
+Peggy regarded the college with great interest, for its fame was far
+spread, as it was the second university to be founded in the New World,
+Harvard being the first.
+
+On the right of the large campus was the president’s house, built of
+brick alternately dull red and gray, brought over from England. Opposite
+was another building of like proportions and architecture known as the
+Brafferton School, built and endowed as an Indian seminary, a modest
+antitype of Hampton.
+
+Although there were a number of shops and ordinaries, as the taverns
+were called, the town was thinly peopled, and Peggy was conscious of a
+chill of disappointment. Where was the glitter and glamour of pageantry
+of which she had heard so much?
+
+Was this modest hamlet with its few detached houses with no pretentions
+to architectural beauty the gay capital of Virginia? As though divining
+her feeling Nurse Johnson spoke.
+
+“Virginia is a state of large plantations and few cities,” she said.
+
+“Williamsburg is not like Philadelphia, my dear, and yet it hath had its
+share of gayety. Before the war began ’twas a goodly sight in winter to
+see the planters and their families come in for divertisement and
+enjoyment. ’Twas very gay then. Gloucester Street was filled with their
+coaches and the spirited horses of the youths. Those were gladsome times
+that I fear me we shall see no more since the capital hath been
+removed.”
+
+She sat for a time lost in thought, and then spoke mournfully:
+
+“Ah, child, ’tis sad to see the passing of greatness. There are many
+like me who grieve to see the old town overshadowed. And this,” she
+continued as they passed a long low building with a wide portico and a
+row of dormer windows frowning from the roof, “this is the Raleigh
+Tavern. Its Apollo room is a famous place for balls, and meetings of
+belles and beaux. We are entering Palace Street now, Peggy. That large
+building at the end was formerly the Government Building, or the Palace,
+as ’tis called, where the royal governors were wont to dwell. The old
+powder magazine yonder held the spark that ignited the wrath of
+Virginians to rebel against the king. And this, my dear, is the end of
+our journey. ’Twas formerly the barracks of the mansion, but ’tis now
+used for a hospital.”
+
+Peggy was conscious of quickening heart throbs as she alighted from the
+cabriolet, and ascended the few steps that led to the door of the
+building.
+
+The westering sun cast a pleasant glow through the wide hall, for the
+entrance doors were thrown back, but Peggy had time for only a glance.
+The nurse led the way at once to one of the rooms which opened from the
+hall, saying:
+
+“I must give report of the supplies immediately to the storekeeper, my
+child. Then I will see the matron and find where your cousin lies. Sit
+you here for a short time.”
+
+Peggy sank obediently into the high-backed chair that the nurse pulled
+forward, and waited with some trepidation for the summons to go to her
+cousin. The office was full of business. A large force of storekeepers
+were busied in giving bedding and other necessaries to what seemed to
+Peggy an endless stream of nurses; while a number of clerks bent over
+their books, deep in the accounts of the storekeepers.
+
+The song of birds came through the open window near which the girl sat.
+A bee hummed drowsily over a budding peach tree that stood just outside,
+and all at once it came to her that she was a long, long way from home.
+All her light-heartedness had vanished. The sunshine, the budding trees,
+the journey with its pleasant companionship, and, above all, her own
+youth, had served to lull into forgetfulness, for the time being, the
+purpose of the journey. Now, however, the passing to and fro of the
+nurses, the coming and going of the doctors with their low-toned orders,
+all brought a vivid realization of her mission, and Peggy felt suddenly
+faint and weak.
+
+“I wish mother were here,” she thought, a great wave of longing sweeping
+over her. “Oh, I do wish that mother were here, or else that everything
+was done that must be done so that I could go back.”
+
+At this point in her musings Nurse Johnson returned, and it was well
+that she did so, for Peggy was getting very close to the point of
+breaking down.
+
+“You are tired,” exclaimed the nurse at sight of her face. “Child, give
+o’er the meeting until to-morrow. You would be more fit then.”
+
+“’Tis naught, friend nurse,” said Peggy rousing herself resolutely. “I
+fear me I was getting just a little homesick. And how is my cousin? Is
+he—is he——”
+
+“He is better,” the nurse hastened to tell her. “Much better, the matron
+says, and longing for his sister. You are to go to him at once, but he
+must not do much talking as he is still very weak. With careful nursing
+he may pull through. And now come, but be careful.”
+
+Peggy arose and followed her across the hall into a large room,
+scrupulously clean, and bare of furniture save the rows of beds, some
+small tables and a few chairs.
+
+On one of the beds in the far corner of the room lay a youth so like her
+father that Peggy could not repress an exclamation. His eyes were
+closed; his face very pale, and serene in its repose. His hair was light
+brown in color, with auburn lights in it that fell low over his
+forehead. Peggy drew near and looked at him with full heart.
+
+“How like he is to father,” she murmured with a quick intake of her
+breath. “He doth not look like either Cousin William, or Harriet. Oh, he
+should have been my brother!”
+
+The nurse bent over the lad, and touched him gently.
+
+“Captain Williams,” she said. “Here is some one to see you.”
+
+His eyes opened, and Peggy almost gasped, so like were they to David
+Owen’s.
+
+“Harriet,” whispered the youth making a weak attempt to rise. “Hath she
+come at last?”
+
+“It is not Harriet,” said Peggy touching his forehead gently, “but
+Peggy, my cousin.”
+
+The young fellow turned a wondering look upon her.
+
+“But Harriet, Harriet?” he murmured. “Why do you call me cousin?”
+
+“Thee is not to talk,” cried Peggy quickly, as the nurse shook a warning
+finger. “I call thee cousin because thou art my Cousin Clifford. Harriet
+could not come because she had been sent to New York. I am Peggy. Peggy
+Owen, thy very own cousin. I have come to care for thee, and to take
+thee home when thou art strong enough. And that is all,” she ended
+breathlessly as the nurse again nodded a warning.
+
+“I want Harriet,” reiterated the youth turning away from her. “Why have
+you come? I want you not.”
+
+This was more than the girl could stand. She had been on the road for
+ten long days and was fatigued almost beyond the point of endurance. And
+when Clifford, who was so like her father that she had been stirred to
+the very depths of her being, said:
+
+“I want you not. Why have you come?” she could no longer control her
+feelings but burst into tears.
+
+“I came because thy sister was sent on to New York and could not come,”
+she sobbed.
+
+[Illustration: “WHY HAVE YOU COME?”]
+
+“Because thee said in thy letter that thee didn’t want to die with none
+of thy kin near. And I have come all the way from Philadelphia to be
+with thee if thou shouldst die, and to take thy last messages.”
+
+“I am not going to die,” said he in an obstinate voice. “And I shall
+save my last messages for my sister.”
+
+At that Peggy looked up in blank amazement, thinking she had not heard
+aright. She had made no small sacrifice to come to Virginia to minister
+to him on his death-bed, if need be; or to bring him to health by
+careful nursing. And now for that cousin to tell her that he would give
+her none of his messages was unsettling to say the least.
+
+And so the girl looked up, and met the lad’s eyes, which held a queer
+look of defiance. His lips were bloodless, but they were set in a
+straight line of determination. He looked so like a great big spoiled
+child that Peggy’s tears vanished as if by magic, and she gave vent to a
+low laugh. A laugh so sweet and girlish that many who heard it smiled in
+sympathy, and turned to get a glimpse of the maiden.
+
+“Thee is a great big goose,” she cried wiping her eyes. “And I am
+another. I shall hold thee to thy words as a promise. Thee is to save
+thy last messages for thy sister. And until she comes, which, I make no
+doubt, will be soon, I shall care for thee whether thee likes or not.
+And I shall begin right now by fixing that pillow. Thee is not
+comfortable. Nurse, please may I have some vinegar? My cousin’s head is
+so hot. There! Sleep now, and to-morrow thee may talk some more. Sleep,
+my cousin.”
+
+And Peggy, mistress of herself once more, firmly checked the feeble
+remonstrances of the youth and began stroking his forehead with soft,
+soothing touches. Finding his protests of no avail her cousin submitted
+to her ministration, and soon, in spite of his efforts to keep awake,
+his eyelids drooped, the drawn look of his face relaxed, and he slept.
+
+“And now you too must rest,” said the nurse. “Come, my child, to my
+home.”
+
+“But these other poor fellows,” said Peggy. “Can we not make them
+comfortable first?”
+
+“We will let the others attend to it for to-night, Peggy. The first duty
+in nursing is to keep one’s self in trim, otherwise the nurse herself
+becomes a patient. Come.”
+
+And nothing loth Peggy followed her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV—PEGGY IS TROUBLED
+
+
+               “Blow, blow thou winter wind,
+             Thou art not so unkind as man’s ingratitude.”
+
+                                        —“As You Like It.”
+
+Half hidden by lilac bushes and trellised grape-vines the cottage of
+Nurse Johnson stood in Nicholson Street. A tiny garden lay on one side
+of the house, and back of it a small orchard extended through to Palace
+Street.
+
+It was a week later, and Peggy stood by the open window of the
+living-room of the cottage gazing thoughtfully at the garden. The
+sunshine lay warm upon the thick green grass studded with violets.
+Daffodils flaunted golden cups at their more gorgeous neighbors, the
+tulips. The lilac bushes were masses of purple and white blossoms. The
+apple trees in the orchard were great bouquets of rose and snow. It was
+a pleasant place, cool and inviting under the trees.
+
+But Peggy was looking with eyes that saw not its pleasantness. She was
+considering the events of the past few days. The matron of the hospital
+had acceded to her desire to assist in the care of her cousin, and she
+had devoted herself to him assiduously. But Clifford’s manner toward her
+troubled her, and there was a pained expression upon her face as she
+gazed into the pretty garden. Unconsciously she sighed.
+
+Nurse Johnson threw aside her sewing and came to her side.
+
+“Child,” she said, “what troubles you? Are you homesick?”
+
+“Friend nurse,” answered Peggy abruptly, “my cousin doth not like me.”
+
+“Why do you think so, Peggy?” asked the nurse quietly. “Hath he been
+rude?”
+
+“Rude? Oh, no! I would he were,” answered the girl. “Were he rude or
+cross I should think ’twas merely his illness. Mother says the best of
+men are peevish when convalescing, but my Cousin Clifford is not cross.
+Yet he is surely getting well. Does thee not think so?”
+
+“Yes,” responded Mrs. Johnson with conviction. “He surely is. He began
+to mend from the day you came. The matron, the doctors, the nurses all
+say so.”
+
+“And yet,” said Peggy sadly, “’tis not because of my coming, nor yet of
+my care that he hath done so. It seems rather as though he were trying
+to get well in a spirit of defiance.”
+
+“He is an Englishman, Peggy. Saw you ever one who was not obstinate? The
+nurses have remarked the lad’s frame of mind, and ’tis commonly thought
+that he believed that you desired him not to recover.”
+
+“What?” cried Peggy horrified. “Oh, friend nurse, why should he think
+such a dreadful thing? I desire his death? Why, ’tis monstrous to think
+of.”
+
+“A mere fancy, child; though why any of us should wish any of the
+English to live is more than I can understand. What with all the
+ravaging and burning that is going on ’twould be small wonder if we
+should desire the death of them all. But if he lives, Peggy, as he seems
+in a fair way to do, ’twill be owing to your care.”
+
+“Still,” said Peggy, “I wish he were not so cold to me. Mother and I
+cared for Cousin William, his father, when he was wounded, and often he
+was irritable and would speak crossly. Yet he always seemed to like it
+right well that we were with him, and would say sometimes that he knew
+not what he would have done without us. And Harriet! why, when Harriet
+was ill with fever she was petulant and fretful at times, but there were
+other occasions where she was sweet and grateful. But Clifford accepts
+my attentions in a manner which shows plainly that he would prefer
+another nurse, but that he submits because he cannot help himself. As of
+course he cannot,” she added smiling in spite of herself. “Sometimes I
+would rather he would be cross if he would discover more warmth of
+manner.”
+
+“Don’t mind him, child. It is, it must be some vagary of his illness. I
+should not pay much attention to it, and I were you.”
+
+“He does not know that I notice it,” the girl told her. “But I cannot
+help but think of it, friend nurse. ’Tis strange that he should dislike
+me so. ’Twould cause mother much wonder.”
+
+“Have you writ anent the matter to her, Peggy?”
+
+“No; ’twould worry her. I have told her only of his condition and that I
+hope that he will soon be strong enough to start for Philadelphia. When
+does thee look for Dr. Cochran to come?”
+
+“About the first of June. Should your cousin be well enough you might
+start north before that time. For my part, while sorry to lose you, I
+shall be glad when you are at home with your mother. You have been so
+occupied with your cousin that you may not have noticed that the militia
+are drilling every evening now.”
+
+“I have seen them on the Market Green,” answered Peggy. “Is the fact
+alarming, friend nurse?”
+
+“The cause of such frequent drill is quite alarming, child. The British,
+under General Arnold, have come out of their quarters at Portsmouth, and
+have started up the James on another ravaging expedition. General
+Phillips hath joined the traitor and hath sent a large force against
+Richmond again. They are plundering and destroying every plantation and
+town on the south side of the river. ’Tis wonder they have not come to
+Williamsburg ere this. I fear that they will soon. Would there were a
+way for you to go home, Peggy.”
+
+“If it were not for Clifford I could go on Star,” mused Peggy.
+
+“Alone? Why, child, I should not be easy one moment if you were to start
+on that journey all by yourself. Ten days on that lonely road? ’Tis not
+to be thought of.”
+
+“No,” sighed the girl. “I suppose not, friend nurse. There is but one
+thing to do at present, and that is to care for my cousin. And that
+reminds me that ’tis time to go to him now.”
+
+Throwing aside all her melancholy, for Peggy had been taught that gloom
+had no place near the sick, she went into the kitchen, took from its
+place on the dresser a salver which she covered with a napkin, placed
+thereon a bowl of steaming broth, for Peggy permitted no one to prepare
+his food but herself, and then regarded it thoughtfully.
+
+“There should be some brightness,” she mused. “’Tis passing hard to lie
+all day in bed with no hint of the spring time. I have it.”
+
+She ran out to the empurpled grass where the violets grew thickest, and
+gathered a small nosegay of the largest blossoms. These she brought in
+and laid daintily on the salver beside the bowl of broth.
+
+“As thee cannot go to the blossoms I have brought the blossoms to thee,”
+said she brightly when she reached her cousin’s bedside. “See, my
+cousin, ’tis a bit of the May, as thee calls it, although May hath not
+yet come in truth; but ’tis very near. Friends say Fifth month, though
+’tis not so pretty a name as thine. Thou canst hold them if thou
+wishest. ’Tis so small a bunch that it will not tire thy poor, weak
+fingers.”
+
+“I thank you,” said the lad coldly. “I fear me that you put yourself to
+too much trouble for me.” He took the violets listlessly, never
+vouchsafing them so much as a glance.
+
+“And how does thee do this morning, my cousin?” The girl shook up the
+pillows, then slipped them under his head so that he half sat, half
+reclined in the bed, cheerfully ignoring the chilly reception that the
+poor violets received. “I think thee looks brighter.”
+
+“I rested well, Mistress Peggy,” he answered briefly, and then he
+dropped the blossoms, and taking the spoon from her, added: “I will not
+trouble you to feed me this morning. I am quite strong enough to feed
+myself.”
+
+“Very well,” assented Peggy with becoming meekness, quietly arranging
+the salver in front of him.
+
+The lad began strongly enough, but soon his hand began to tremble. The
+perspiration stood on his forehead in great drops as he continued to
+make the effort, and presently the spoon fell with a clatter from his
+nerveless fingers. He sank back, panting and exhausted, on his pillows.
+
+“Thou foolish boy,” rebuked Peggy gently wiping the perspiration from
+his brow. “Thee must not waste thy strength if thee wishes to get well
+soon. Thee must be patient a little longer, my cousin.”
+
+“Would I had died,” broke from him passionately, tears of humiliation in
+his eyes, “ere I was brought to lie here like a baby compelled to accept
+services that I wish not.”
+
+A deep flush dyed the girl’s face, and she choked. For a moment she
+feared lest she should lose her self-control, then mastering
+herself—Peggy had been well schooled in self-repression—she said
+mournfully:
+
+“Thee must not excite thyself, Cousin Clifford. Suffer me to care for
+thee a little longer. If it can be arranged so that another may take
+charge of thee, it shall be done. I knew not that thou didst dislike me
+so much.”
+
+He made no reply, but partook of the broth she gave him without protest.
+Then, because it was part of her duty to wait beside him until the
+morning visit of the surgeon, she picked up the little bunch of violets
+and sat down quietly.
+
+Her heart was very full. She could not understand the youth’s aversion.
+It was as though he held something against her that she had done; the
+resentment of an injury. In wondering perplexity she fondled the
+violets, and with unconscious yearning her thoughts flew back to far-off
+Philadelphia, and the long ago time when there was no war, and she had
+not known these troublesome cousins.
+
+What times she, and Sally, and Betty, and all the girls of The Social
+Select Circle had had gathering the wild flowers in the great woods!
+When was it they had gone there last? It came to her suddenly that it
+had been six long years before, just after the battle of Lexington. They
+had made wreaths for their hair, she remembered. Was it violets that
+made Sally’s, she wondered, the blue of the flowers she held stirring
+her memories vaguely. No; it was quaker-ladies, and they were blue as
+Sally’s eyes. They never would go to the great woods again because the
+British had felled the trees.
+
+At this point in her meditation Peggy looked up with a start to find her
+cousin regarding her with such an intent look that the color mantled her
+cheek and brow. He seemed as though he was about to speak, and, fearful
+that there would be another outbreak which would agitate him, she began
+speaking hurriedly:
+
+“I am thinking of the great wood, cousin, which used to lie along the
+banks of the Schuylkill River at home. We went there in spring time for
+violets, and all the wildings of the forest. Thee should have seen the
+great trees when they were newly leaved, and again in the autumn when
+they were clothed in scarlet and gold; and——”
+
+“What have you done with Harriet?” interrupted he in a tense tone.
+
+“What have I done with Harriet?” repeated Peggy so surprised by the
+question that she let the violets fall to the floor unheeded. Clifford
+had not mentioned his sister’s name since the first day she came. “I
+told thee, my cousin, that the council had sent her to New York, because
+she communicated with Sir Henry Clinton which is not allowed. She had
+been warned, but she heeded it not. Does thee not remember?”
+
+“I know what you told me,” he made answer. “Think you that I believe it?
+Nay; I know that your people have prevented her from coming to me.”
+
+For a moment Peggy was so amazed that she could only stare at him. When
+she had recovered sufficiently to speak she said clearly:
+
+“I think thee must be out of thy mind, cousin. I spoke naught but truth
+when I told thee of Harriet. I should not know how to speak otherwise.
+Why should we hinder thy sister from coming to thee? There would be no
+reason.”
+
+“At one of the taverns where we stopped on the way down here, a captain,
+a whipper-snapper Yankee, flaunted a shirt in my face made by my
+sister.” The boy’s eyes flashed at the recollection. “I wrote her
+praying her to tell me that he did it but to flout me. I prayed her to
+write that she was still loyal to her king and country. And she answered
+not. I sent another letter, and still there was no reply. Then I tried
+to escape to get to her, and I was wounded in the attempt. The director
+of the hospital here promised, to quiet me, that he would see that she
+received a letter, and I wrote for her to come. Harriet would have come
+had she not been prevented.”
+
+“But why should she be prevented?” demanded the astounded Peggy.
+
+“Because ’twas feared that once she was with me she would return to her
+allegiance. That my influence would make her remember that Colonel
+Owen’s daughter could show no favors to a Yankee captain; that——”
+
+“Clifford Owen,” interrupted the girl sternly, “listen to me. Thou art
+exciting thyself needlessly. Thy sister likes the Yankee captain, as
+thee calls him, no more than thee does. She did make that shirt; but
+’twas done because she was as full of idle fancies as thou art, and
+mother sought by some task to rid her of the megrims. She gave it to
+John hoping to flout him, thinking that he would not wear a garment
+bearing the inscription embroidered, in perversity, upon it. She did
+write to thee. Not once but several times. That thee did not receive the
+letters is to be deplored, but not to be wondered at, considering the
+state of the country. She exerted herself on thy behalf to procure a
+parole, and ’twas near accomplishment when, impatient at the delay, she
+wrote to Sir Henry Clinton imploring him to ask thy exchange. As I have
+told thee, ’tis not permitted for any to communicate with the enemy, and
+so she was sent to New York. And now thee has the gist of the whole
+matter,” concluded Peggy with dignity.
+
+“And why is she not here?” he asked obstinately.
+
+The girl rose quickly.
+
+“I have told thee,” she said quietly. “I will say no more. If thee
+chooses to doubt my word then thee must do so. I have spoke naught but
+truth. My cousin, thee will have to get another nurse. I am going back
+to my mother. ’Twas a mistake to come. I but did so because mother and I
+felt sorrow for thee alone down here with none of thy kin near, and
+perchance dying. ’Twas a mistake, I say, to have come, but I will
+trouble thee no longer. I shall start home to-day on my pony. The way is
+long, and lonely; but better loneliness and fatigue than suspicion and
+coldness. I hope thee will recover, my cousin. Farewell!”
+
+She turned, standing very erectly, and started to leave the room. Before
+she had taken a half dozen steps, however, there came the quick beat of
+the mustering drum from the Market Green, and a hoarse shout from
+without:
+
+“The British! The British are coming!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI—THE TABLES TURNED
+
+
+            “Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro,
+            And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress,
+            And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago
+            Blushed—at the praise of their own loveliness.”
+
+                                                     —Byron.
+
+Instantly the little town was all commotion. From every quarter men came
+running in answer to the call, ready to defend their homes from the
+invader; while women huddled together in groups, or gathered their
+treasures and fled with them to the forest. Mustered at length, the
+militia, pitifully few in numbers, sallied forth to meet the enemy. From
+the southward came the strains of martial music as the British
+approached, and mothers, wives, and sisters waited in breathless
+suspense the result of the encounter.
+
+The sound of a few shots was borne presently on the breeze, followed by
+the rush of running men, and the militia which had marched forth so
+bravely but a short time before, came flying back, panic stricken.
+
+“There are thousands of them,” cried the panting men. “We could not
+stand against the whole British army.” On they ran, while from the other
+direction came the first division of Major-General Phillips’ army, the
+Queen’s Rangers, under Lieutenant-Colonel Simcoe, which marched in with
+drums beating, and colors flying.
+
+At the first alarm Peggy had paused abruptly, hardly knowing what to do.
+Her first impulse had been to return to the cottage, but remembering
+that Fairfax was with the militia, and Nurse Johnson somewhere about the
+hospital, she hesitated. As she did so there came a peremptory voice
+from the bed:
+
+“Mistress Peggy!”
+
+“Well, my cousin?” Peggy went back to Clifford reluctantly.
+
+“Are my people truly coming?”
+
+“They seem to be,” answered the girl.
+
+“And where were you going?”
+
+“I really don’t know,” answered she. “I would be alone at Nurse
+Johnson’s cottage, which I would like not. Solitude is conducive to
+fear, and I wish ever to present a brave front in the presence of the
+enemy. I shall remain somewhere about the hospital by necessity.”
+
+“Stay by me,” he said.
+
+“But thee has hardly ceased telling me that thee does not want me near
+thee?” cried the girl opening wide her eyes in surprise.
+
+“I have not changed my opinion concerning the matter,” he said grimly.
+“But I am an English officer, and the safest place for you is by my
+bedside. Therefore, mistress, I command you to sit here by my bed.”
+
+“I don’t want thy protection,” began Peggy hotly. “I think I prefer thy
+soldiers.”
+
+“Did I want your nursing?” he demanded savagely. “No, I did not; yet was
+I compelled to submit to it. And while I did not desire your attendance,
+still you have attended me. For what purpose I know not, nor doth it now
+matter. The fact remains that I am under an obligation of which I would
+be quit. I will requite whatever of service you have rendered me by
+procuring exemption from pillage or annoyance for both yourself and the
+friends with whom you are staying. Sit you here beside me, Mistress
+Peggy, and bide the result.”
+
+“Clifford Owen,” retorted the maiden so bitterly angry that she could
+scarcely speak, “were it not for those friends who have been so kind to
+me, I would die rather than accept aught from thy hands. But because of
+them I will take whatever of favor thee can obtain for us. But ’tis
+under protest. Under strong protest, I would have thee understand.”
+
+“So?” he said. “That is quite as it should be.”
+
+For one long instant the two gazed at each other. The lad’s whole
+appearance betokened the keenest enjoyment of the situation. He looked
+as though he had received a draught of an elixir of life, so animated
+and strong did he appear.
+
+Peggy, on the contrary, found no pleasure in the state of things. She
+was as near blind, unreasoning wrath as her gentle nature ever came. Had
+it not been for Nurse Johnson and her son, she would have left her
+cousin’s bedside forthwith. As it was she sat down beside him in
+anything but a meek frame of mind.
+
+The streets of the little city thronged with the red coats of the
+British, and they took possession of public buildings, dwellings, and
+shops as though they were masters returning to their own.
+
+It was not long before several soldiers under the leadership of an
+officer made their appearance in the hospital. Rapidly they went through
+the rooms searching for British prisoners among the wounded and sick
+inmates. There was no rudeness nor annoyance of any sort offered to
+either the American sick, or their white-faced nurses. As they
+approached his bed Clifford sat up stiffly, and gave the officer’s
+salute.
+
+“Ha!” cried the English officer. “What have we here?” and he paused
+beside him.
+
+“I am Captain Williams, of the Forty-eighth Regiment, sir,” declared
+Clifford with another salute. “I have been a prisoner with the enemy
+since the last week of February.”
+
+“Ha! yes; I remember. Taken at Westchester while on private business for
+Sir Henry Clinton,” said the other.
+
+“The very same, sir. And this,” indicating Peggy, “is my cousin,
+Mistress Margaret Owen, of Philadelphia, who hath been put to no small
+inconvenience by my illness. She hath nursed me back to health, or at
+least until I am on the road to recovery. For the sake of whatever
+service I have been able to render General Sir Henry Clinton, I beg you
+to see that neither she, nor any of the inmates of the house where she
+dwells, be subjected to annoyance. She hath also a pony, I believe, of
+which she is very fond. Wilt see that it is exempted from impressment?
+It is needless to say that any favor rendered me in the matter will not
+go without recompense.”
+
+A significant glance was exchanged between the two which Peggy did not
+notice. What she did see, however, was that the officer saluted in turn,
+saying pompously:
+
+“Whatever you desire in the matter, captain, will be done. If the young
+lady will come with me to show me the house I will at once put a guard
+on the premises. I promise that she will suffer no annoyance of any
+sort.”
+
+As Clifford spoke of her as his cousin, Peggy felt a quick revulsion of
+feeling. It was the first time he had so called her. Then, as he openly
+acknowledged his indebtedness to her nursing, the girl’s anger toward
+him died away. After all, she thought, the lad was doing his best to
+repay her for what she had done. That he was doing it from a desire to
+be quit of the obligation did not matter in the least. She knew now how
+he had felt during the time when he had submitted to her attentions, and
+a sense of justice made her aware that he was acquitting himself
+handsomely. And so as she rose to accompany the officer to the cottage,
+she said humbly:
+
+“I thank thee, my cousin. I will not forget thy kindness in the matter.”
+
+A puzzled look came into the youth’s eyes at her changed demeanor, but
+he merely gave a slight bow, and motioned her to go on with the officer.
+But Peggy was not yet through with him.
+
+“May I come again to attend thee?” she asked in a low tone. “Thee is not
+well yet, thee must know.”
+
+“Yes,” he said. “Come, and you will, mistress. I will not mind your
+ministrations so much now.”
+
+And in much better spirits than she had deemed possible a few moments
+before the girl accompanied the officer to the cottage. Nurse Johnson
+came to the door wringing her hands as they neared the entrance.
+
+“There will be naught left, Peggy,” she said despairingly. “The soldiers
+are in the house now stripping it of everything. ’Twill be a mercy if
+the house is left.”
+
+Before Peggy could make reply the officer removed his cocked hat, bowing
+courteously.
+
+“That shall be stopped immediately, madam,” he said. “War is not a
+gentle thing, and sometimes suffering must fall upon even our friends.
+In this case, however, your inconvenience will be short.”
+
+The good woman had not recovered from her bewilderment at this speech,
+ere he pushed past her into the house, and they heard him reprimanding
+the looting soldiers sharply.
+
+“What doth it mean, child?” she gasped as every article taken was
+restored to its place, and a guard mounted before the dwelling. “Why are
+we so favored when our poor neighbors are faring so ill?”
+
+“’Tis Clifford,” Peggy told her. “He insisted that my friends and I
+should not be subjected to annoyance by his people as a return for
+nursing him.”
+
+“Well, of all things!” exclaimed the nurse. “And you thought he did not
+like you!”
+
+“He doesn’t, friend nurse. He made sure that I should understand that
+his feeling toward me had not changed, but he felt that he was under an
+obligation of which he would be quit. Still,” a little gleam came into
+Peggy’s eyes as she spoke, “he did think that he would not mind my
+ministering to him so much now.”
+
+“Of course not,” laughed Nurse Johnson. “He will think it his due now.
+Isn’t that like an Englishman? But I am very thankful none the less,
+though I see not how he could do other than he hath done. It is
+certainly reassuring to know that we shall not be molested.”
+
+So Peggy and her friend stayed in the cottage, or went back and forth to
+the hospital untroubled, save for the irksomeness of having armed men
+about the dooryard. And in the stable Star ate her oats, or tossed her
+slender head unwitting of the fact that she had been saved from helping
+in the marauding expeditions of the enemy.
+
+“I have misjudged my cousin,” thought Peggy with a warm glow of
+gratitude toward the lad as she prepared his breakfast the next morning.
+“And yesterday I was so angry. Peggy, Peggy! will thee never learn to
+govern thy temper? Thee must be more patient, and guard thy unruly
+tongue better. Heigh-ho! ’tis an adventurous jaunt after all, though
+still I would I were with mother. There! I don’t believe that my cousin
+will ignore my offering this morning.”
+
+And with this she placed a few violets on the platter, and started for
+the hospital, going through the gate of the orchard which opened into
+Palace Street.
+
+As she closed the gate and turned in the direction of the hospital she
+saw an officer coming down the street. There was something strangely
+familiar in his appearance, and Peggy was so impressed with the idea
+that it was some one she had met that she regarded him keenly. She
+stopped as though she had received a shock as she recognized him. For
+the man was Major-General Benedict Arnold, and he was coming directly
+toward her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII—AN UNWELCOME ENCOUNTER
+
+
+                   “He stood alone—A renegade
+                   Against the Country he betrayed.”
+
+Peggy leaned against the fence for support, trembling violently. General
+Arnold was evidently bound for the palace, and she must pass him if she
+continued on her way to the hospital. The thought of running back to the
+house, and waiting until he had passed came to her, but she found
+herself incapable of moving. Peggy was obliged to resign herself to the
+encounter.
+
+The scarlet and gold of the British uniform well became him, Peggy could
+not but observe. His dark, handsome face looked impassively from under
+his laced, cocked hat, and with quickening heart-throbs she saw that he
+still limped. Wildly she hoped that he would pass by without noticing
+her, and she watched his approach with a sort of fascination.
+
+The birds sang merrily above her head, flitting from tree to tree across
+the blue of the sky. From the topmost bough of a near-by mulberry tree
+an oriole poured forth a flood of melody. A fresh river breeze bearing
+on its wings the odors of the sea stirred the maiden’s hair and touched
+her flushed cheeks with refreshing coolness.
+
+Alas! as he came directly in front of her he raised his eyes, and then
+stopped abruptly with an exclamation of surprise and wonder.
+
+“Why! it is Miss Peggy Owen, is it not?” he asked with a genial smile.
+
+“Yes,” answered she faintly. “It is, Fr——” then she stopped. The word
+friend stuck in her throat. She could not utter it. Friend? Nay, he was
+not that. He had forfeited the title forever. And so, after a brief
+hesitation, she continued: “It is I, in truth, General Arnold.”
+
+A flush had come into his swarthy face as she substituted the title
+“general” for friend. He bent his dark compelling eye upon her with
+wistful eagerness.
+
+“Miss Peggy,” he said, holding out his hand with a winning smile, “we
+are both a long way from home. I little thought to find my girl friend
+down here. I give you greeting.”
+
+“And I give thee greeting also, sir,” she returned. But she did not put
+out her hand. She could not.
+
+She had been taught all her life to return good for evil. To submit to
+baseness and ingratitude with meekness; but Peggy could not bring
+herself to clasp Benedict Arnold’s hand in greeting. Above the singing
+of the birds she heard John Drayton’s heart-broken cry, “My general! my
+general! my general!” She saw again the anguish of strong men at the
+defection of a brave soldier. How Drayton had loved him—this dashing,
+daring leader who had ruined his ideal of manhood. The blankness and
+awfulness of the pall that had settled upon the country after his
+desertion had not yet been dissipated. Men had not yet ceased to look
+suspiciously upon each other. Officers spoke with hushed voices even yet
+of how the great heart of General Washington had been all but crushed by
+this man’s falseness. And now he stood before her with outstretched hand
+in the April sunshine.
+
+“I give thee greeting, sir,” she said with unsmiling lips. “Greeting and
+good-day.” And she made as if to pass him.
+
+“Stay,” he said, his face crimsoned, and dark with anger. “Am I not fit
+to be spoken to? You regard me as a traitor, do you not? Yes; your eyes
+tell it though you say it not. My little maid, may not a man change his
+opinions? Have I not heard that your father was not always of the belief
+that bloodshed was lawful? Nay; even you yourself have changed since the
+beginning of the war. Once you and your family held that resistance to
+the powers that be was wrong. That submission to the king was not only
+proper but duty as well. Have I not the right to change my views and
+opinions also?”
+
+“Yes,” she made answer. “Thee has the right. Any man may change.”
+
+“Then why condemn me?” he cried with passion.
+
+“I do not condemn thee, sir; I leave that to God and thy conscience,”
+she said. “But oh!” she cried unable to control herself longer, “why did
+thee not do it openly? No man would have held thee to blame had thee
+come out boldly, and acknowledged thy changed views. But to seek to give
+our strongest fortress into the hands of the enemy; to betray a brave
+man to death, to destroy the idol that thee had made for thyself in the
+hearts of thy soldiers, to bring sorrow to General Washington, who hath
+so much to bear; this was not well, sir. ’Twas not done in the honorable
+manner that men had a right to expect of Benedict Arnold. And now, to
+come with fire and sword against thine own people! How can thee do it?
+How can thee?”
+
+“You do not understand. There have been men who have been willing to
+bear infamy that good might come of it. I sought to be one of them. When
+the colonies have been restored to their rightful allegiance the matter
+may appear in a different light. Miss Peggy, you do not understand.”
+
+“No,” she answered reluctant to prolong the interview. “I do not, sir;
+nor do I wish to.”
+
+“Child,” he said, regarding her with a winsome smile, “once you were
+beset with pride because you walked the length of a drawingroom by my
+side. Will you pleasure me with your company down this street?”
+
+Peggy’s eyes were misty, and her voice full of infinite sadness as she
+replied:
+
+“When I was proud to walk with thee, thou wert a brave soldier, wounded
+in the defense of thy country. Now thou hast betrayed that country, and
+thou hast come against thine own people, plundering and burning the
+property of thy brothers. I walk with no traitor, sir.”
+
+Over his dark forehead, cheek, and neck the red blood rioted at her
+words, and his dark eyes flashed ominously.
+
+“So be it,” he said at length. “Enemies we are, then. I could have
+served you greatly. Perhaps it would have been better for you to have
+been more politic; but no matter. Benedict Arnold forces his presence
+upon no one. This one thing, however, I ask of you: Tell me, I pray,
+where John Drayton is. But answer that and I will leave you in peace.”
+
+[Illustration: ”BENEDICT ARNOLD FORCES HIS PRESENCE UPON NO ONE“]
+
+“Thee means to tempt him,” breathed Peggy, looking at him with startled
+glance. “Thee has no right to know that. He was broken-hearted over thy
+defection from thy country. He shed tears of sorrow. He and Daniel
+Morgan also. He would not wish to hear from thee. Molest him not, I beg
+of thee.”
+
+“Ah! that touched you,” he cried. “If you are so sure of his loyalty why
+ask me not to molest him? Are you afraid that he will come to me for the
+love he bears me?”
+
+“No,” responded the girl indignantly, stung to the quick by his sneering
+manner. “John is fighting with the army, as he should be. Thee could not
+persuade him to leave his duty, sir. I trust him as I do myself.”
+
+“How now!” he cried. “Wilt lay a wager with me that another two months
+will not find John Drayton fighting by my side? Wilt lay a wager on’t,
+my little maid?”
+
+“No; I will not,” she said, her eyes dilated with scorn at the
+proposition. “Neither will I tell thee where he is so that thou canst
+vilely try to woo him from his allegiance. John is loyal to his country.
+He hath been severely tried, and not yet found wanting. I should be less
+than friend to consent that thou shouldst make an attempt upon his
+honor.”
+
+“You have told me where he is, Mistress Peggy, without knowing it,” and
+he laughed maliciously. “Daniel Morgan hath been, until of late, with
+General Greene’s army in the Carolinas. If Drayton and Morgan were
+together it follows as a matter of course that Drayton is also with
+Greene.”
+
+“Oh!” ejaculated Peggy in dismay. Then her native wit came to her aid.
+“But that was last fall,” she objected. “It doth not follow that even if
+he were there then, he is now. At that time thou wert with the enemy in
+New York; yet now thou art in Virginia. Why should he remain stationary
+any more than thou shouldst?”
+
+“Well reasoned,” he approved, still laughing. “It doth not matter where
+he is, Mistress Peggy. I can find him if I wish. And I may wish. Do you
+live here?” indicating the cottage abruptly.
+
+“For the time being, sir,” answered Peggy, longing to terminate the
+interview. “I am here to care for my cousin, who is of the British
+army.”
+
+“Which accounts for the guard. Ah! Mistress Peggy, I see that despite
+your Whig proclivities you know the wisdom of having a friend among the
+enemy. Perhaps you would have met my friendly overtures in another
+spirit had it not been so. I give you good-day. Perchance we may meet
+again.”
+
+Bowing low he left her, and feeling somehow very uncomfortable Peggy
+went on to her cousin.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII—UNDER THE LINDENS
+
+
+                 “Snatch from the ashes of your sires,
+                 The embers of the former fires;
+                 And leave your sons a hope, a fame,
+                 They too will rather die than shame;
+                 For Freedom’s battle once begun,
+                 Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son,
+                 Though baffled oft is ever won.”
+
+                                 —“The Giaour,” Byron.
+
+“You are late,” spoke Clifford Owen with anything but an amiable
+expression when at length Peggy reached his bedside. “Methought you had
+forgot that I lay here without breakfast?”
+
+“Nay, my cousin,” said the girl apologetically. “I started with thy
+breakfast some time since, but one of thy generals stopped me; and then,
+as the broth was cold, I tarried in the hospital kitchen to warm it.”
+
+“Is it the everlasting broth again?” queried the boy irritably. “Odds
+life! I think that Yankee doctor is determined to keep me here all
+summer. How can a fellow gain strength with naught but broth to eat?”
+
+“Thee should not speak so of the good doctor,” reproved Peggy gently.
+“And to show thee that thee should not, know that that same Yankee
+doctor said, when I was warming the broth, that thee was strong enough
+to take something other than it. And he had me prepare, what does thee
+think? Why, a soft-boiled egg and a bit of toast. So there, my cousin!
+is not that a nice breakfast?”
+
+“It isn’t half enough,” grumbled her cousin. “One little egg, and one
+piece of toast that would scarce cover a half joe. Why, I could eat a
+whole ox, I believe. I tell you the fellow wants to keep me on a thin
+diet for fear that I will get strong enough to fight. I am going to have
+one of the British surgeons look me over.”
+
+“Thee is cross, and hungry; which is vastly encouraging,” commented the
+maiden sagely.
+
+The youth looked up at her with the merest suspicion of a smile.
+
+“If being cross and hungry are encouraging symptoms,” he said somewhat
+grimly, “I think I ought to get up right now. I’d like to tear this bed
+to pieces, I am so tired of it; and as for hunger——” He paused as though
+words failed to express his feelings.
+
+“Then thee had better fall to at once,” suggested Peggy. “And thee is
+talking too much, I fear.”
+
+“No,” he said. “The coming of the army hath put new life into me. I am
+no longer a prisoner, Mistress Peggy. That in itself is enough to cure
+one of any malady. Think! ’twill not be long ere I shall come and go at
+pleasure. Nor shall I be bound by a parole.”
+
+“But thee must be patient a little longer,” advised the maiden, as he
+resigned the tray to her with a sigh of content. “Thee must not overdo
+just at this time, else thee will tax thy new-found strength too much.
+And I wish to thank thee again, my cousin, for thy kindness yesterday.
+Thy people have not molested us in any way, and thy friend, the officer
+who spoke with thee, hath placed a guard about our house to ensure our
+safety. Both Nurse Johnson and I appreciate thy thoughtfulness. We might
+have fared ill had it not been for thee.”
+
+“I like not to be beholden to any,” he remarked. “’Twill serve to repay
+in part for your nursing. I see not yet why you should journey so far to
+care for an unknown kinsman.”
+
+“Thee did not seem unknown to me, my cousin,” returned Peggy quietly.
+“Thy father stayed with us for nearly a year when he was upon parole in
+Philadelphia. And I have been with Harriet for two years almost
+constantly. Then, too, the dictates of humanity would scarce let us
+leave thee down here without any of thy kin near. That is all,
+Clifford.”
+
+And Peggy would discuss the matter no further. Her heart was very warm
+toward her cousin, and she did not wish a repetition of the conversation
+of the day before. Seeing that he was inclined to converse too much she
+quietly withdrew, and busied herself in other parts of the hospital,
+winding bandages for the surgeons, or reading to the sick. She feared to
+return to the cottage lest she should again meet with General Arnold;
+and that, Peggy told herself, she could not bear. At length, however,
+just about sunset, which was her usual time for returning, she ventured
+forth.
+
+The evening was a lovely one. The sun had sunk beyond the belts of
+forest lying to the westward of the town, leaving the sky rosy and
+brilliant. The street was deserted, and breathing a sigh of relief the
+maiden hastened to the cottage. She found Mrs. Johnson awaiting her.
+
+“You are late, child,” she said with so distraught an air that Peggy
+looked up quickly. “I was beginning to fear that some ill might have
+befallen you. What kept you so?”
+
+“Friend nurse,” answered Peggy with some agitation, “General Arnold
+stopped me this morning when I went to the hospital with my cousin’s
+breakfast. I feared lest I should meet with him again, so I waited until
+the street was clear.”
+
+“Arnold, the traitor?” exclaimed Nurse Johnson.
+
+“The very same. I knew him in Philadelphia when he was our general. I
+liked not to talk with him, but he would not let me pass. Friend nurse,
+does thee think the British will stay here long?”
+
+“’Tis hard to tell, Peggy. I blame you not for not wanting to meet with
+him, but ’tis a thing that will be unavoidable in this small town if
+they stay any length of time. I think he must be with General Phillips
+at the palace. I wish,” ended the good woman with the feeling that all
+Americans held toward the traitor, “I wish that we might do something to
+capture him. ’Tis said that His Excellency is most anxious to effect
+it.”
+
+“Yes; but naught can be done with an army back of him. But something
+worries thee, and I have done naught but speak of my own anxiety. What
+is it?”
+
+“’Tis Fairfax,” Nurse Johnson told her in troubled tones. “He is hiding
+in the forest, and wishes to come home for the night. I had a note from
+him. He tried to creep in to-day, but was deterred by seeing the guard
+in the yard. Of course, I knew that the militia must have fled to the
+forest, and the poor fellows are in want of food because the British
+have ravaged all the plantations near. If the boy could get in without
+the knowledge of the guard he could stay in the garret until the
+soldiers leave. But how to accomplish it I know not. He will be in the
+palace grounds to-night a little after sunset, he said. And he wished me
+to meet him there. But I promised the guard that I would cook them
+Indian cakes to-night, and so I cannot leave without arousing their
+suspicion. ’Tis time to go now, and to serve the cakes also. What to do
+I know not.”
+
+“Why could I not go to thy son, while thee stays and cooks the cakes?”
+asked Peggy eagerly.
+
+“Why, child, that might do! I did not think of that; yet I like not to
+send you out again so late.”
+
+“It is not late. The dark hath come only in the shadow, which will be
+the better. And where will he be, friend nurse? The grounds are so large
+that I might go astray if I did not know the exact spot.”
+
+“He will be in the great grove of lindens which lies on the far side of
+the grounds,” the nurse told her. “Yet I like not——”
+
+“Say no more, friend nurse,” said Peggy quickly. “’Tis settled that I am
+to go. Now tell me just what thee wishes me to do.”
+
+After some further expostulation on the part of the nurse she consented
+that the girl should go to meet the lad, carrying some of his mother’s
+clothes which he should don, and so arrayed come back to the cottage.
+
+“I wonder,” mused Nurse Johnson, “if he knew that the English general
+hath his headquarters in the palace. ’Tis a rash proceeding to venture
+so near. If he is taken they will make him either swear allegiance to
+the king, or else give him a parole. Fairfax will take neither, so it
+means prison for the boy. Foolish, foolish, to venture here!”
+
+“But all will be well if we can but get him here unbeknown to the
+guard,” consoled Peggy. “Friend nurse, cook many cakes, and regale them
+so bountifully that they will linger long over the meal; and it may be
+that Fairfax can slip in unobserved.”
+
+“The very thing!” ejaculated the nurse excitedly. “What a wit you have,
+Peggy. I begin to think that we can get him here, after all.”
+
+She bundled up one of her frocks hastily, saying as she gave it to the
+girl:
+
+“Of course you must be guided by circumstances, my child, but come back
+as quickly as possible lest the guard be through with the meal. If they
+can be occupied——”
+
+“I will hasten,” promised Peggy. “And now good-bye. Oh, I’ll warrant
+those guards will never have again such a meal as thee will give them.
+Now don’t be too anxious.”
+
+“But I shall be,” answered the nurse with a sigh. “Not only anent
+Fairfax but you also.”
+
+Peggy passed out of the cottage quickly, and went toward the hospital.
+It was so usual a thing for her to go back and forth that the going
+attracted no attention from the guards. Now the hospital had an entrance
+that opened directly into the palace grounds, and Peggy availed herself
+of this convenience.
+
+The grounds were very large, and it was fortunate that she knew the
+exact situation of the grove of linden trees, else she must have become
+bewildered. The lawns were in a sad state of neglect, overrun with vines
+and wild growths; for, since Lord Dunmore, the last royal governor, had
+left, the mansion had held but an occasional tenant. So much of
+underbrush was there that it was a comparatively easy matter for Peggy
+to pass unobserved through the trees in the gathering dusk of the
+twilight. A guard had been placed in the immediate vicinity of the
+mansion, and the town itself was thoroughly picketed so that sentinels
+in the remoter parts of the grounds were infrequent. And unobserved
+Peggy presently reached the great grove of lindens, the pride of the
+former royal governor.
+
+The moon was just rising through a bank of threatening clouds which had
+gathered since the sunset. They obscured the moonlight at one moment,
+then swept onward permitting the full light of the orb to shine. Peggy’s
+voice trembled a little as she called softly:
+
+“Friend Fairfax!”
+
+“Mistress Peggy!” Fairfax Johnson rose slowly from the copse near the
+grove, and came toward her.
+
+“Is it thou?” asked Peggy in a low tone. Then as he drew closer: “Thee
+is to put on this frock, friend. ’Tis thy mother’s. Then thee is to come
+boldly back to the cottage with me, and enter while thy mother hath the
+guard in the kitchen regaling them with Indian cakes and honey. Be
+quick!”
+
+The youth took the bundle silently, and retired a short distance from
+her. The clouds cleared in the next few moments, discovering Master
+Fairfax arrayed in his mother’s frock, which was a trifle long for him.
+He stumbled as he tried to approach Peggy, and grabbed at his skirts
+awkwardly.
+
+“Thee must not stride, friend,” rebuked Peggy in a shrill whisper. “Thee
+is a woman, remember. Walk mincingly. So! Hold not thy skirt so high.
+Thy boots will betray thee. No woman had ever so large a foot. Oh, dear!
+I don’t believe that thee will ever get by the guards. And thy mother is
+uneasy about thee.”
+
+“I’ll do better,” answered the youth eagerly. “Indeed, I will try to do
+better, Mistress Peggy. Show me just once more. Remember that I’ve never
+been a woman before.”
+
+“’Tis no time for frivolity,” chided the girl, laughing a little
+herself. “There! ’tis a decided improvement, Friend Fairfax. I think we
+may start now. And as we go thee may tell me why thee should be so rash
+as to venture into the town while the enemy is here. Thy mother wondered
+anent the matter. Why did thee, friend?”
+
+“Why, because the Marquis de Lafayette hath entered the state, and is
+marching to meet the British,” he answered. “The militia of Williamsburg
+is to join him. We march at daybreak. I wanted to see mother before
+going, and to get something to eat. I have eaten naught since yesterday
+morning.”
+
+“Why, thou poor fellow,” exclaimed Peggy. “No wonder thee would dare
+greatly. And ’tis venturesome, friend. Vastly so! And hath the Marquis
+come from General Washington?”
+
+“Yes; he hath twelve hundred regulars, and everywhere in tide-water
+Virginia the militia are rising to join him. We must do all we can to
+keep the old Dominion from being overrun by the enemy. The meeting place
+is near the Richmond hills.”
+
+“Thank you for the information,” came a sarcastic voice, and from out of
+the gloom there stepped a figure in the uniform of an English officer.
+The moon, bursting through the clouds at this moment, revealed the dark
+face of Benedict Arnold. Peggy gave a little cry as she recognized him.
+
+“So this is your trysting place,” he said glancing about the grove.
+“Upon my word a most romantic spot for a meeting, but a trace too near
+the enemy for absolute security. You realize, do you not, that you are
+both prisoners?”
+
+“Sir,” spoke Fairfax Johnson, “do with me as you will, but this maiden
+hath done naught for which she should be made a prisoner. She but came
+to conduct me to my mother.”
+
+“And ’tis no trysting place,” interposed Peggy with some indignation.
+“The lad but ventured here to see his mother. He hath eaten nothing
+since yesterday morning. The least, the very least thee can do is to
+first let him see his mother, and have a good meal.”
+
+“And then?” he questioned as though enjoying the situation. “Upon my
+word, Miss Peggy, you plead well for him. I have heard you plead for
+another youth, have I not?”
+
+“Thee has,” answered she with spirit. “But then I pleaded with an
+American officer, a gallant and brave man. Now——”
+
+“Yes, and now?” he demanded fiercely. “Have I no bowels of compassion,
+think you, because I have changed my convictions? I will show you,
+Mistress Peggy, that I am not so vile a thing as you believe. Go! You
+and this youth also. The information he hath so unwittingly given is of
+far more value than he would be as a prisoner. We had not yet been
+advised of Lafayette’s whereabouts, and we were anxious to know them. We
+have tarried at this town for want of that very intelligence. Therefore,
+go! but take this advice: Hereafter, choose your meeting place at a spot
+other than the enemy’s headquarters.” He laughed sneeringly, and turning
+strode off under the trees.
+
+“I would rather he had taken me prisoner,” observed the lad gloomily.
+
+“Well, I am glad that he did not,” answered Peggy. “Thy mother would
+have grieved so. Come, Friend Fairfax! With such a man one knows not how
+long his mood of mercy will last. Let us hasten while we may.”
+
+He followed her awkwardly. They reached the cottage without further
+molestation, and entered it unobserved.
+
+On the morning following the drums beat assembly soon after the sounding
+of the reveille. The different commands filed out of their camps, and,
+forming into a column, took up the line of march out of the city.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX—HARRIET AT LAST
+
+
+      “Awake on your hills, on your islands awake,
+      Brave sons of the mountain, the frith, and the lake.
+      Be the brand of each chieftain like Fin’s in his ire.
+      May the blood through his veins flow like currents of fire.
+      Burst the base foreign yoke as your sires did of yore,
+      Or die like your sires, and endure it no more.”
+
+                                           —“Battle Song,” Scott.
+
+With the courage born of the desperateness of the situation the citizens
+of Williamsburg set about repairing the devastation wrought by the
+invader. Wrecked homes and desolated families followed fast in the wake
+of the British army. From field and hills the militia assembled to repel
+their approach, leaving the crops to the care of the men too old for
+service, the women who bravely shouldered tasks too heavy for delicate
+frames, and the few negroes who remained faithful to their owners.
+Patiently demolished gardens were replanted, poultry yards restocked,
+depleted larders replenished in order that want, stark and gaunt, might
+not be added to other foes.
+
+And the sunny days of April became the brighter ones of May, and the
+forests about the city blossomed into riotous greens, starred by the
+white of dogwood, or the purplish-pink mist of the Judas-tree. The
+mulberries and sycamores were haunts of song. Out of the cerulean sky
+the sun shone brilliantly upon the leaf-strewn earth. All Nature
+rejoiced, and sent forth a profusion of bloom and verdure as though to
+compensate the land for the bloody war waged throughout its length and
+breadth. For that great game, whose moves and counter-moves were to
+terminate so soon in the cul-de-sac of Yorktown, had begun. From the
+seacoast where Greene had sent him Cornwallis, recovered at last from
+the dearly bought victory of Guilford Court House, was moving rapidly
+across North Carolina for a junction with the forces in Virginia. There
+was no longer a doubt but that the subjugation of the state was the aim
+of the British.
+
+An empty treasury, a scarcity of arms, a formidable combination to
+oppose in the West, a continual demand upon her resources to answer for
+the army in the North, with all these contingencies to face Virginia had
+now to prepare to meet this new foe advancing from the South.
+
+Late one afternoon in the latter part of May Peggy and her cousin sat in
+the palace grounds under the shade of a large oak tree. The girl had
+been reading aloud, but now the book lay closed upon the grass beside
+her, and she sat regarding the youth who lay sprawled full length upon
+the grass.
+
+“And so thee is going back to the army?” she asked. “Is thee sure that
+thee is strong enough?”
+
+“Yes; I tire of inaction. I told General Phillips when he passed through
+two weeks ago on his way to Petersburg that I would join him when the
+combined army reached Richmond. I would have gone with him then but that
+I hoped Harriet might still come here. I do not understand why I have
+not heard from her, if she is, as you say, in New York.”
+
+“I wish thee could hear, my cousin,” said Peggy patiently. “I would that
+thee might hear from her for my own sake as well as thine. It vexes me
+for thee to doubt my word, and thee will never believe that I have
+spoken truth until thee hears from her.”
+
+“But consider,” he said. “It hath been more than a month since you came.
+When you first came you said that she was in New York. If so, why hath
+she not written? Ships pass to and from there with supplies and messages
+for the forces here. ’Twould have been easy to hear.”
+
+“I am sorry that I cannot relieve thy uneasiness,” Peggy made answer.
+“It is not in my power to do so, Clifford.”
+
+“I am uneasy,” he admitted, sitting upright. “Sometimes I am minded to
+set forth to see what hath become of her.”
+
+Peggy looked at him with quick eagerness.
+
+“Why not?” she asked. “My cousin, why should we two not go to
+Philadelphia? Then thee could go on from there to New York to thy
+sister. Why not, Clifford? My mother——” Her voice broke.
+
+“You want to go home?” he asserted.
+
+“Yes; oh, yes!” she answered yearningly. “Thee is well now. There is
+naught to do but to amuse thee by reading or by conversation. The troops
+are now all on the south side of the James River with thy general, Lord
+Cornwallis. ’Twould be a most excellent time, Clifford, for a start
+toward Philadelphia. We would have none but our own soldiers to meet.”
+
+“‘Our own soldiers’ mean my foes, Mistress Peggy,” he rejoined with a
+half smile. “You forget that I am an Englishman. We would never reach
+your home were we to start. I am not going to risk my new-found freedom
+by venturing among the rebels.”
+
+“But I am a patriot, and thou art a Britisher, as thou say’st. Why not
+depend upon me when we are among the Americans, and upon thee when with
+thy forces?” asked the maiden ingenuously.
+
+The lad laughed.
+
+“Nay,” he returned. “We should need a flag that would show that we were
+non-combatants. No; ’twill not do. I shall go back to the army, and
+you——”
+
+“Yes?” she questioned. “And I, my cousin? What shall I do? Twice already
+in the past month thy army hath visited this city. How often it will
+come from now on none can tell. All tide-water Virginia seems swept by
+them as by a pestilence. Get me a flag and let me pass to my home.”
+
+“’Tis not to be thought of for a moment,” he answered quickly. “I will
+not even consider the thing. I have deliberated the matter, and, as I
+feel to some extent responsible for your well-being, I have finally
+decided what were best to be done. Know then, Mistress Peggy, that I
+shall in a few days conduct you to Portsmouth, where the frigate ‘Iris’
+lies preparing to return to New York. I shall send you on her to that
+port.”
+
+Peggy was too astonished for a moment to speak. The youth spoke with the
+quiet assurance of one who expects no opposition to his decision. The
+girl chafed under his manner.
+
+“Thee takes my submission to thy authority too much for granted, Cousin
+Clifford,” she remarked presently, and her voice trembled slightly. “I
+am not going to New York. I spent a year there among the British, and
+’tis an experience that I do not care to repeat. Thee does not choose to
+be a prisoner, my cousin; neither do I.”
+
+“If you were ever a prisoner there I know naught concerning it,” he
+answered. “Surely if Harriet is there, as you would have me believe,
+’tis the place for you. If you are the friends you seem to be what would
+be more natural than for you to go to her, since to return to your own
+home is out of the question? The vessel sails the first of June. I shall
+put you on her. There is naught else to do.”
+
+“I go not to New York,” was all the girl said. She had not told Clifford
+any of the unpleasant incidents connected with his father, or sister.
+She had been taught to speak only good, forgetting the evil. Now,
+however, she wondered if it would not have been better to have
+enlightened him concerning some of the events.
+
+“We will not discuss the matter further for the present,” he said
+stiffly. “I know best what to do in the matter, and you will have to
+abide by it. I see naught else for you to do.”
+
+Peggy’s experience with boy cousins had been limited to this one, so she
+was ignorant of the fact that they often arrogate to themselves as a
+right the privilege of ordering their girl relatives’ affairs. She did
+not know that these same masculine relatives often assumed more
+authority than father and brother rolled into one. She was ignorant of
+these things and so sat, a wave of indignant protest surging to her
+lips. Fearing to give utterance to the feeling that overwhelmed her she
+rose abruptly, and left the grounds.
+
+“I will walk as far as the college and back,” she concluded. “I must be
+by myself to think this over. What shall be done? Go to New York I will
+not. And how determinedly my cousin speaks! Doth he think that I have no
+spirit that I will submit to him?”
+
+And so musing she walked slowly down Palace Street, under the shade of
+the double row of catalpa trees which cast cooling shadows over the
+narrow green. At length just as she turned to enter Duke of Gloucester
+Street there came the sound of bugles. This was followed by the noise of
+countless hoof beats; then came the sharp tones of military command: all
+denoting the approach of a body of mounted men.
+
+The people began running hither and thither, and soon the street was so
+filled with them that Peggy could not see what was coming. As quickly as
+possible she made her way to the steps of the Capitol, and ascended its
+steps that she might have a good view of the approaching force. From the
+Yorktown road another detachment of British filed into town. The
+citizens of the little city viewed their entrance with feelings in which
+alarm predominated. What could they want in Williamsburg, they asked
+themselves. Had they not been stripped of almost everything in the shape
+of food that they should be compelled to support a third visit from the
+enemy? A flutter of skirts in the rear division of the cavalry drew
+attention to the fact that a girl rode among them and, surprised by this
+unusual incident, Peggy leaned forward for a keener glance.
+
+A cry of amazement broke from her lips as the girl drew near. For the
+maiden was Harriet Owen on her horse, Fleetwood.
+
+Harriet herself, blooming and beautiful! Harriet, in joseph of green,
+with a gay plume of the same color nodding from her hat, smiling and
+debonair, as though riding in the midst of cavalry were the most
+enjoyable thing in the world. Peggy rubbed her eyes, and looked again.
+No; she was not dreaming. She saw aright. The vision on horseback was in
+very truth her cousin Harriet. With a little cry Peggy ran down the
+steps, and pushed her way through the gaping crowd.
+
+“Harriet,” she called.
+
+Harriet Owen turned, saw her, then drew rein and spoke to the officer
+who rode by her side. He smiled, saluted her courteously as she
+dismounted lightly, and gave Fleetwood’s bridle into the hand of an
+orderly. Quickly the English girl advanced to her cousin’s side.
+
+“Well, Peggy?” she said smilingly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX—VINDICATED
+
+
+              “’Tis just that I should vindicate alone
+              The broken truce, or for the breach atone.”
+
+                                                 —Dryden.
+
+“Thee has come at last,” cried Peggy, a little catch coming into her
+voice. “Oh, Harriet! Harriet! why didn’t thee come before? Or write?”
+
+“Why, I came as soon as I could, Peggy. When I knew that the Forty-third
+was to be sent down I went to Sir Henry for permission to accompany the
+regiment. The colonel’s wife bore him company, which made my coming
+possible. Oh, the voyage was delightsome! I love the sea. And the
+military also. You should have heard the things they said to ‘this sweet
+creature,’ as they styled me. And how is Clifford?”
+
+“He is no longer an invalid, Harriet. He hath quit the hospital, and
+taken rooms at the Raleigh Tavern. Thee can see the building from here
+if thee will turn thy head. ’Tis the long low building with the row of
+dormer windows in the roof. He talks also of returning to the army, but
+hath been waiting to hear from thee. He hath worried. I am so glad that
+thou hast come, and he will be glad also. I do believe that thee grows
+more beautiful all the time.”
+
+“Sorry that I can’t say the same for you,” laughed Harriet, pinching
+Peggy’s cheek playfully. “What have you been doing to yourself? You are
+pale, and thinner than when I saw you last. Mercy! how long ago it
+seems, yet ’twas but the first week in last month. I have had such a
+good time in New York, Peggy,” she ran on without waiting for answers to
+her questions. “The routs and the assemblies were vastly entertaining.
+And the plays! Oh, Peggy, you should have been there. I thought of you
+often, and wished you with me, you little gray mouse of a cousin! Why do
+you wear that frock? I like it not.”
+
+“Did thee in truth think of me?” asked Peggy wistfully. “With all that
+pleasuring I wonder that thee had time.”
+
+“Well, I did of a certainty. Particularly after your mother’s letter
+came telling me about Clifford, and how you had gone down to care for
+him. Of course I knew that he was in good hands, so I didn’t worry. Is
+this the hospital?”
+
+“Yes,” answered the Quakeress who had been leading Harriet toward the
+spot during the conversation. “I left thy brother in the palace grounds,
+and I thought thee would like to be taken directly to him. Hath Captain
+Williams come in yet?” she inquired of an attendant.
+
+“Captain Williams,” repeated Harriet who seemed to be in high spirits.
+“How droll that sounds! Are these the palace grounds?” as Peggy on
+receiving the attendant’s answer led the way into them. “Oh! there is
+Clifford!”
+
+She made a little rush forward with outstretched arms as she caught
+sight of her brother, crying joyously:
+
+“Clifford! Clifford!”
+
+The youth rose at her cry. Over his face poured a flood of color.
+Incredulity struggled with joy, and was succeeded by a strange
+expression. His face grew stern, and his brows knit together in a heavy
+frown. He folded his arms across his breast as his sister approached,
+and made no motion to embrace her. Peggy was nonplussed at the change.
+What did it mean! He had been so anxious for her coming, and so uneasy
+about her. She could not understand it. Harriet too seemed astonished at
+this strange reception.
+
+“One moment,” he said, and Peggy shivered at the coldness of his tones,
+“do you come, my sister, as a loyal Englishwoman, or as a rebel?”
+
+“Loyal?” questioned Harriet wonderingly. “Why, of course I’m loyal. What
+else could I be?”
+
+“And that Yankee captain? The one to whom you gave that shirt?”
+
+“The Yankee captain?” A puzzled look flashed across Harriet’s face. “Oh!
+do you mean John Drayton? Well, what about him?”
+
+“Is he not favored by you?” queried Clifford, a light beginning to glow
+on his countenance.
+
+“Favored by me? John Drayton!” Harriet’s lip curled in disdain. “What
+nonsense is this, Cliff? I dislike John Drayton extremely. Didn’t Peggy
+tell you?”
+
+“Then come,” he said opening his arms.
+
+“You silly boy,” cried Harriet embracing him. “I am minded not to kiss
+you at all. What put such absurd notions in your head? How well you
+look! Not nearly so pale as Peggy is. One would think she was the
+invalid. Come, Peggy! ’Tis fine here under the trees. Sit down while you
+both hear about the gayeties of New York. And the war news! Oh, I have
+so much to tell. Sir Henry says the game is up with the colonies this
+summer. But oh, Cliff——”
+
+“Have you been in New York?” he interrupted.
+
+“Of course. Didn’t Peggy tell you how the Most Honorable Council of the
+revolted colony of Pennsylvania,” and Harriet’s voice grew sarcastic,
+“banished me to that city because I tried to get a letter to Sir Henry
+Clinton concerning your exchange? It hath afforded much amusement at the
+dinners when I would take off Mr. Reed’s solemn manner. ’Tis strange
+that Peggy did not tell you.”
+
+“She did,” he replied, and turning he looked at Peggy as though seeing
+her for the first time. A gaze that embraced the gray gown that clung
+close to her slender figure; the snowy whiteness of her apron, the full
+fichu fastened firmly about the round girlish throat; and the simple cap
+of fine muslin that rested upon her dark tresses. “She did,” he
+repeated, and paused expectantly as though for her to speak.
+
+But she made no comment. It was enough that she was vindicated at last.
+It had hurt Peggy that her cousin should doubt her word, and now her
+sole feeling was one of content that he should know that she had indeed
+spoken naught but truth.
+
+“Then if Peggy told you that I was sent there I see not why you should
+ask if I came from there,” spoke Harriet in perplexity. “Clifford, have
+you seen father?”
+
+“No,” his face clouding. “I dread meeting him, Harriet. You know that he
+left you and the home in my charge. Had I known that you would not
+remain I would never have left you. And why did you not stay there, my
+sister?”
+
+“Alone, Clifford? Did you not know me better than that? Know then,
+brother mine, that if you can serve your country, Mistress Harriet Owen
+can also. Oh, I have seen service, sir. I was a spy in the rebel
+headquarters at Middlebrook, in the Jerseys, for nearly a whole winter.”
+
+“You, Harriet! A spy?” he cried aghast. “Not you, Harriet?”
+
+“Don’t get wrought up, Cliff. Father knew it, and consented. We were
+well paid for it. Didn’t Peggy tell you about it?” Harriet turned a
+smiling countenance upon Peggy. “She knew all about it. I stayed with
+our cousins while there.”
+
+“I think there is much that Cousin Peggy hath not told me,” he remarked,
+and again he looked at the girl with a curious intent glance. Peggy felt
+her color rise under his searching gaze. “I will depend upon you for
+enlightenment as to several things.”
+
+The shadows lengthened and crept close to the little group under the
+trees. Fireflies sparkled in the dusk of the twilight. A large white
+moth sailed out of the obscurity toward the lights which had begun to
+glimmer in the hospital windows. An owl hooted in a near-by walnut tree.
+Peggy rose suddenly.
+
+“We should not stay here,” she said. “Clifford is no longer an invalid,
+’tis true; still he should not remain out in the dew.”
+
+“I have scarcely begun to talk,” demurred Harriet. “I think I should
+know what will suit my own brother, Peggy.”
+
+“Our Cousin Peggy is right, Harriet,” observed Clifford in an unusually
+docile mood. “I should not be out in the dew, and neither should you.
+To-morrow there will be ample opportunity to converse. I confess that I
+do feel a little tired. Then too there are matters to ponder.”
+
+“Of course if you are tired,” said his sister rising, “we must go in.
+To-morrow, Peggy, you will find yourself like Othello—your occupation
+gone.”
+
+“I shall not mind,” Peggy hastened to assure her. “Thy brother hath
+desired thy coming so much that I make no doubt that he will enjoy the
+companionship.”
+
+“I dare say he did want me,” was Harriet’s self-complacent remark.
+“Still, Peggy, there’s no denying the fact that you are a good nurse. Is
+it not strange, Clifford, that she hath nursed all three of us? Father
+when he was wounded in a skirmish at their house; me when I was ill of a
+fever, and now you.”
+
+“No; she hath not told me,” he answered. “She hath been remiss in this
+at least, Harriet. Now——”
+
+“I think mother did the most of the nursing,” interrupted Peggy hastily.
+“And after all, ’tis over now. There is no necessity to dwell upon what
+is past. We will bid thee good-night, my cousin.”
+
+“And where do you stay?” inquired Harriet as Clifford left them at the
+cottage gate. “Is this the place? How small it is! Will there be room
+for me, Peggy?”
+
+“Thee can share my room, Harriet. Mother made arrangements with Nurse
+Johnson, with whom I came to Williamsburg, that I was to stay with her.
+She is most kind, and will gladly receive thee.”
+
+“Let’s hurry to bed,” pleaded Harriet. “I do want to tell you about
+Major Greyling, and—well, some others. We can talk in bed.”
+
+“Very well,” was Peggy’s amused response. “But I have somewhat to tell
+thee also. Wilt promise to let me talk part of the time?”
+
+“Don’t be a goose,” said Harriet giving her a little squeeze. “I have
+something important to tell you.”
+
+“Then come in,” said Peggy, opening the door.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI—A RASH RESOLVE
+
+
+            “How much the heart may bear, and yet not break!
+            How much the flesh may suffer and not die!
+            I question much if any pain or ache
+            Of soul or body brings our end more nigh:
+            Death chooses his own time; till that is sworn,
+                All evils may be borne.”
+
+                                     —Elizabeth Akers Allen.
+
+“Has thee had any news of the army lately, friend nurse?” questioned
+Peggy one morning a week after Harriet’s arrival.
+
+Nurse Johnson glanced quickly about to make sure that they were alone
+before she replied:
+
+“I had a short letter from Fairfax a few days since, Peggy. He said that
+the Marquis had received word that a force under General Wayne was
+coming to help in the defense of the state. He was on the point of
+breaking camp at Richmond and marching up to the border to meet him.
+Cornwallis hath already begun operations on the south side of the James.
+’Tis said that he boasts that the people will return to their allegiance
+as soon as they find that their new rulers are not able to give them
+military protection. With that end in view the earl hath established a
+veritable reign of terror wherever his troops march. He is harrying and
+ravaging all plantations, running off the negroes, or inciting them
+against their masters. In truth,” ended the good woman with some
+bitterness, “if aught escaped the vigilance of the invading forces under
+Phillips and Arnold it hath been reserved only for the keener eye of a
+more pitiless enemy.”
+
+“And thy son, friend nurse? Is he well?” inquired the girl, for a shadow
+lay on Nurse Johnson’s brow that was not caused by the tidings of
+Cornwallis’ ravages, harrowing as they were.
+
+“I am worried about him, Peggy,” she admitted. “He is in truth far from
+well, and feared an attack of fever when he wrote. He did not like to
+ask for leave to come home, the need of men is so great; but felt that
+he must do so did he not get better.”
+
+“How dreadful a thing war is!” sighed Peggy. “The poor fellow! to be ill
+and weak yet to stay on because of the need the country hath of men.
+’Tis heroic, friend nurse.”
+
+“Ah, child, ’tis little a mother cares for heroics when her only son is
+suffering for lack of care. Sick and starving also, it may be.”
+
+“I have been selfish,” broke from the girl remorsefully. “I have been so
+full of my woe that I had forgot how our poor soldiers are in want of
+everything. It hath seemed to me at times that I could not bear to stay
+down here longer. Thee knows I have not heard from mother at all. I know
+she must be worried if she hath not heard from me.”
+
+“Your being here is cause for worry,” said the nurse soberly.
+“Williamsburg is in the path of the armies, though it does seem as
+though we had been visited enough by them. Would that you were home,
+Peggy, but I see no way of your getting there. The expresses can scarce
+get through.”
+
+“Thee said that General Wayne was to join the Marquis,” spoke the girl
+eagerly. “He is from my own state, friend nurse. I make no doubt but
+that he would help me could I but reach his lines. And the Marquis——Why,
+Robert Dale is with the Marquis’ forces! I remember now that Betty told
+me he had been placed there for valor. Thee sees that I have plenty of
+friends could I but reach our own lines unmolested.”
+
+“’Tis not to be thought of,” said Nurse Johnson shaking her head
+decidedly. “No, Peggy; ’tis irksome to stay here under the conditions of
+things, but I see not how it can be helped. Ah! here is your cousin. How
+beautiful she is!”
+
+“Where are you going, Peggy?” asked Harriet as she entered the room, her
+wonderful gray eyes lighting into a smile at Nurse Johnson’s last words.
+
+“I am going to the college to see the museum of natural history,
+Harriet. Will thee come with me?”
+
+“Not I, Peggy. Such things are too tiresome,” yawned Harriet. “And
+Clifford won’t go for a ride. He said that he had something to attend to
+to-day. ’Tis no use to tease Cliff when he makes up his mind. He is
+worse than father.”
+
+“Well, if thee won’t come,” and Peggy tied the ribbons of her leghorn
+hat under her chin, “thee must not mind if I go.”
+
+“I wish I were back in New York,” pouted her cousin. “’Tis slow down
+here. Had I known that Clifford was so well I would not have come.
+However, there will be some amusement when the army under Lord
+Cornwallis gets into quarters. I dare say father will take a house then.
+Of course he will want us to look after it.”
+
+“Is thy father with Lord Cornwallis?” asked Peggy quickly.
+
+“Of course, Peggy. The Welsh Fusileers always stay with him. When we
+left him at Camden he was to join Cornwallis, you remember.”
+
+“Yes,” assented Peggy absently, “but I had forgot for the moment.”
+
+In thoughtful mood she left the cottage. It seemed to her as though she
+were caught in the meshes of a web from which there was no escape. Here
+were Clifford and Harriet with the possibility of Colonel Owen appearing
+upon the scene at any moment. When he came Peggy knew that she would be
+unable to do anything. If only she could reach the American lines, she
+thought, a way would be opened for her to proceed to Philadelphia.
+
+The air was rife with rumors concerning the capture and narrow escapes
+of the postriders. It seemed almost next to impossible for them to get
+through to Philadelphia! How then could she, a mere girl, hope to
+accomplish what they could not?
+
+“And yet,” Peggy mused, “I must try. I dare not wait until Cousin
+William comes for he will take Harriet and me with him wherever he goes.
+I know not how it will end.”
+
+She had reached the college campus by this time, and now paused
+thoughtfully looking up at the statue of Norborne Berkeley, Lord
+Botetourt,—most beloved of all the royal governors,—which had been
+erected on the green.
+
+“I bid you good-morrow, little cousin,” spoke a voice pleasantly, and
+Peggy started to find Clifford beside her.
+
+The lad smiled at the glance of surprise that Peggy gave at his mode of
+address, and continued:
+
+“I thought you had deserted me entirely. Was care of me so irksome that
+you are glad to be rid of me?”
+
+“No, Clifford; but thee had thy sister,” responded Peggy who had in
+truth left the brother entirely to his sister. “Thee had no need of me
+longer, as thee is not now an invalid.”
+
+“True, I am no longer an invalid, Cousin Peggy. Still are there not some
+matters to be settled betwixt us? Why have you not reproached me for my
+doubt of you?”
+
+“When thee found that I had spoke naught but truth what more was there
+to be said, my cousin?” queried Peggy seriously. “Thy conscience should
+do the reproaching.”
+
+“And it hath,” he rejoined. “You have given me no opportunity to ask
+pardon but I do so now. There were many things that I did not know that
+Harriet hath told me. There are still many that require explanation in
+order to have a good understanding of affairs. But this I have gathered;
+all of us, father, Harriet and I, seem to be under deep obligation to
+you and your family. And my debt is not the least of the three. I wish
+to repay you in some measure for your care of me. As my excuse I can
+only say that while I knew that we had cousins in this country I knew
+little concerning them. I left home shortly after father came over, and
+so knew naught of his stay with you. And that captain with the shirt
+Harriet made——” he paused abruptly and clenched his hands involuntarily.
+“I thought you were like him and all other Americans I had met,” he
+continued—“boasting braggarts who had wooed my sister from her true
+allegiance. I cry your pardon, my cousin. Will you give it me?”
+
+“For all doubt of me, thee has it, Clifford,” responded the girl
+sweetly, touched by his evident contrition. “But for what thee thinks of
+Americans, no. There are some among us who are not as we would have them
+be. Among all peoples the good and bad are mingled. I dare say thee is
+not proud of all Englishmen. We are not a nation of braggarts, as thee
+thinks. It hath taken something more than braggadocio to repulse thy
+soldiers for six long years. It hath taken courage, bravery and a grim
+resolution to win in spite of famine and the greatest odds that ever an
+army faced. Those things belong not to boasters, my cousin.”
+
+“A truce, a truce,” he cried. “I am routed completely. I admit that
+Americans have bravery. Odds life! and tenacity also, when it comes to
+that. Where get they that obstinacy that enables them to rise after
+every defeat?”
+
+“Where do they get it?” she asked. “Why, from their English blood, of
+course. Thee and thy fellows forget that they are of thine own blood.
+Oh, the pity of it! And see how thy people are treating this state!”
+
+“’Tis fortune of war,” he uttered hastily. “And that brings me to the
+pith of this interview. I have intelligence that Lord Cornwallis is
+marching toward Richmond, which he will reach the last of this week.
+Therefore, I shall escort you and Harriet to Portsmouth to-morrow, and
+see you aboard the ‘Iris,’ bound for New York. I wish to join the earl
+at Richmond, and I wish to see you in safety before doing so.”
+
+“Thee must leave me out of such a plan, Clifford,” spoke Peggy quietly.
+“I am not going to New York. When I was there before only the river lay
+betwixt my mother and me, yet I was not permitted to cross it. I should
+be a prisoner as thee would be in Philadelphia. I could not bear it.”
+
+“But you cannot remain here, Peggy,” he remonstrated. “I am doing what
+seems to me the best that can be done for you. The country is overrun by
+soldiers of both sides. Were you able to get through the British lines
+there still remain the rebels.”
+
+“Thee has no need to trouble concerning me at all, my cousin,” spoke
+Peggy with some heat. “If I can reach the rebel lines, as thee calls
+them, I shall be sent through. I am not going to New York in any event.”
+
+“I shall not permit you to remain here,” he said, determination written
+on every feature. “I am your nearest male relative in this part of the
+country, and as such I shall do what I think is best for you. Come,
+little cousin, be reasonable. Harriet shall use her influence, once New
+York is reached, to see that you go to your mother. Will not that
+content you?”
+
+“It doth not content me,” replied the girl, her whole nature roused to
+resistance. Too well she knew what Harriet’s promises were to rely upon
+them. “I am grateful to thee, Clifford, for thy thought of me; but thee
+must give o’er anything that hath New York for its end and aim.”
+
+“But I cannot let you stay here,” he cried again. “The game is up as far
+as these people are concerned. I cannot let you remain to be a sharer in
+their miseries and distresses. Be reasonable, Peggy.”
+
+“I am reasonable, Clifford. Reasonable with the reason born of
+experience. These people are my people. If I cannot get home I prefer to
+share their misery, rather than to be at ease among the British. Attend
+to thy sister, but leave me to do as I think best, I beg.”
+
+“’Tis futile to talk further concerning the matter,” he said. “You must
+be made to do what is best for you.” With this he left her.
+
+“I can tarry here no longer,” Peggy told herself as she watched
+Clifford’s retreating figure. “My cousin is sincere in the belief that
+it is the best thing to do. Were Harriet to be relied upon——But no; too
+many promises have been broken to trust her now. I must try to get to
+our lines. I will go in the morning.”
+
+The light was just breaking in the east the next morning when Peggy
+softly stole into the stable where Star was, and deftly saddled and
+bridled the little mare.
+
+“We are going home, Star,” she whispered as she led the pony out of the
+stable and yard to the road. “It will all depend on thee, thou dear
+thing! Do thy very best, for thee will have to get us there.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII—FOR LOVE OF COUNTRY
+
+
+           “Our country’s welfare is our first concern:
+           He who promotes that best, best proves his duty.”
+
+                                         —Harvard’s Regulus.
+
+Westward rode Peggy at a brisk pace. There were not many people
+stirring, the hour was so early. The few who were abroad merely glanced
+curiously after her, as she passed, without speaking. With a feeling of
+thankfulness she soon left the deserted streets, and, passing the
+college with its broad campus of green where the golden buttercups
+seemed to wave a cheerful greeting, increased her speed as she reached
+the cleared space of the road which stretched bare and dusty between the
+town and the forest.
+
+“At last we are started,” exulted the girl, drawing a deep breath as she
+entered the confines of the great woods. “We ought not to get lost if we
+follow the road, Star. And too I have been over every bit of it, and my
+diary will tell the places we went through in case I should forget. But
+first——” She pulled the pony into a walk; then, letting the reins hang
+loosely, drew forth a little white flag made of linen, and fastened it
+to the bridle.
+
+“Clifford said we could not get through without a flag,” she mused.
+“Well, that should show that we are non-combatants. And we do not wish
+harm to any; do we, Star?”
+
+The forest was on every hand. The narrow road wound deviously under
+great trees of fir, and pines, and beech, shady, pleasant and cool.
+Suddenly there came a medley of bird notes from out of the woods; clear,
+sweet and inexpressibly joyous, the song of the mocking-bird. As the
+morning hours passed and Peggy found that she was still the only
+traveler upon the road, her spirits rose, and she became agreeably
+excited over the prospects of the journey.
+
+“We will ride hard, Star, until to-morrow night,” she cried catching at
+a fragrant trailer of wild grape that hung from an overarching tree.
+“To-morrow night should find us at Fredericksburg, if we go as fast as
+we did coming down in the cabriolet. And I know we can do that.”
+
+And so, talking sometimes to Star as though the little mare understood,
+sometimes listening to the call of birds, the whirr of insects or the
+murmur of the wind in the tree tops, the day passed. It was drawing near
+nightfall when Peggy rode into New Castle, a small village on the
+Pamunkey River, tired but happy. She had not been molested and the first
+day was over. Peggy went immediately to the house where she had stopped
+with Nurse Johnson on the way down.
+
+There were no signs of the British, she was told at this place. It was
+rumored that the Marquis de Lafayette had crossed the river further to
+the west on his way to join General Wayne. Peggy rejoiced at the news.
+
+“We have timed our going just right, Star,” she told the little mare as
+she made an early start the next morning. “Lord Cornwallis will not
+reach Richmond until the last of the week, and the Marquis hath just
+passed on. I could not have chosen better.”
+
+Filled anew with hope as the prospects seemed more and more favorable
+Peggy rode briskly toward Hanover Court House, for she planned to reach
+this place by noon. The road wound along the banks of the Pamunkey,
+under large tulip trees so big and handsome that she was lost in wonder
+at their magnificence.
+
+In this happy frame of mind she proceeded, marveling often at the fact
+that she seemed to be the only one on the road. It was the second day,
+and she had met no one nor had any one passed her. ’Twas strange, but
+fortunate too, she told herself.
+
+The morning passed. The road, which had been for the greater part of the
+way shaded by the great trees, now suddenly left the woods and stretched
+before her in a flood of sunshine. A lane branched off to the right,
+running under a double row of beech trees to a large dwelling standing
+in the midst of a clover field not more than half a mile distant. The
+country was thinly settled throughout this section, the houses so
+scattering that this one seemed to beckon invitingly to the tired
+maiden.
+
+“Methinks ’twould be the part of wisdom to bait ourselves there, Star,”
+she said musingly. “I think we will take an hour’s rest.”
+
+With that she turned into the shady lane, and soon drew rein in front of
+the house.
+
+“Friend,” she said as an elderly, pleasant-looking woman came to the
+door, “would thee kindly let me have refreshment for myself and horse;
+refreshment and rest also, friend?”
+
+“Light, and come right in,” spoke the woman heartily. “A girl like you
+shouldn’t be riding about alone when the British are abroad in the
+land.”
+
+“But the British have not yet crossed the James,” answered Peggy
+cheerfully.
+
+“Why, a detachment passed here not an hour ago, bound for Hanover Court
+House,” spoke the woman abruptly. “Didn’t you know that Cornwallis was
+following the Marquis de Lafayette trying to keep him from meeting
+General Wayne?”
+
+“I did not know,” answered the maiden paling. “Why, I am going through
+Hanover Court House myself. I want to reach Fredericksburg to-night.”
+
+“You’d better bide with me until we hear whether they have left there,
+and in what direction they ride, my dear. I should not like a daughter
+of mine abroad at such a time. Where are you from?”
+
+“I came from Williamsburg, and I am trying to get home,” Peggy told her.
+“I live in Philadelphia, and came down to nurse a cousin who was
+wounded. There was no one to come with me, and it seemed a good time to
+start, as I thought Lord Cornwallis was still at Petersburg.”
+
+“Bless you, child! it never takes them long to scatter for mischief when
+they enter a state,” exclaimed the woman. “I think ’twill be best to
+hide that mare of yours, if you want to keep her. There’s no telling
+when others of the thieving, rascally English will be along. Here,
+Jimmy,” to a youngster of ten who stood peeping at Peggy from behind the
+door, “take the nag down to the grove behind the mills, and don’t forget
+to feed her. You are the second person from tide-water to ask for rest
+in the last twenty-four hours,” she continued leading the way into the
+dwelling. “The other was a lad from the militia who came last night.
+Most sick the poor fellow is, too.”
+
+“What became of him?” asked Peggy interested on the instant. “I hope the
+British did not get him.”
+
+“Well, then, they didn’t,” was the laconic response. “I’ve got him here
+hidden in the garret. We’ll go up to see him as soon as you have
+something to eat. The boy needs looking after a bit.”
+
+“I have some skill in nursing, friend,” spoke Peggy modestly. “If I
+tarry with thee until ’tis wise to go on I might be of assistance in
+caring for him.”
+
+“Have you now? Then between us we will bring him round nicely. It’s
+providential that you came. I was wondering how to give him proper care
+without attracting too much attention from the darkies. There are not
+many left me, and they seem faithful, but ’tis just as well not to rely
+too much on them.”
+
+The attic was a roomy garret extending over the entire main building.
+Two large windows, one in each end of the gambrel roof, afforded light
+and air. Boxes, trunks, old furniture, and other discarded rubbish of a
+family filled the corners and sides, affording many recesses that could
+be utilized as hiding-places in an emergency. A large tester bed spread
+with mattress and light coverlids stood in the center of the space, and
+upon it reposed the lithe form of a youth. Peggy gave an ejaculation of
+astonishment as her hostess led her to the bed.
+
+“’Tis Fairfax Johnson,” she cried. “Oh, friend, how does thee do? Thy
+mother told me that thee was not well. How strange that I should find
+thee here!”
+
+“Why, ’tis Mistress Peggy!” exclaimed the young fellow, sitting up
+quickly, a deep flush dyeing his face. “How, how did you get here?”
+
+“I am trying to get home,” she told him. “I left Williamsburg yesterday
+morning, and hoped to reach Fredericksburg to-night, but our good friend
+here tells me that the British are at Hanover Court House. I am to bide
+with her until they pass on.”
+
+“That is best,” he said. “’Twas but an advance force on a reconnoitering
+expedition that passed this morning. The rest will be along later. You
+should not be here at all.”
+
+“I know,” replied Peggy, surprised by this speech from Fairfax. It was
+the longest he had ever made her. “Or rather I didn’t know, Friend
+Fairfax, else I would not be here. And how does thee do? I am to help
+care for thee.”
+
+“You!” again the red blood flushed the lad’s cheek and brow. “Why, why,
+I’m all right. A little rest is all I need.”
+
+“I shall care for thee none the less,” answered the maiden demurely, the
+feeling of amusement which she always felt at his shyness assailing her
+now.
+
+“And here is cool milk and toast with sweet butter and jam,” spoke the
+hostess. “Boys all like jam, so I brought that for a tid-bit. With the
+eggs it should make a fairish meal. Now, my lad, I’ll leave you to the
+mercy of your young friend while I run down to see about things. It is
+pleasant for you to know each other. Come down when you like, my dear,”
+she added turning to Peggy as she left the room.
+
+“Oh!” uttered Fairfax in such evident dismay that Peggy found it
+impossible to suppress the ripple of laughter that rose to her lips.
+
+“I shall tell thee all about thy mother while thee eats,” she said
+arranging the viands before him temptingly. “Thy mother is worried anent
+thee, friend, but she herself is well. She——”
+
+“Listen,” he said abruptly.
+
+A blare of bugles, the galloping of horses, the jingle of spurs and
+sabres filled the air. Peggy ran to the front window and looked out.
+
+“’Tis a body of men in white uniforms,” she cried. “They are mounted
+upon fine horses, and are clattering down the lane toward the house.”
+
+“’Tis Tarleton with his dragoons,” he exclaimed hastening to the window
+for a view of them.
+
+“Then thee must hide,” ejaculated Peggy. “Quickly! They may search the
+place. Hurry, friend!”
+
+“But you,” he said, making no move toward secreting himself.
+
+“Go, go,” cried she impatiently. “I know Colonel Tarleton, and fear
+naught from him or his troopers. Hide, friend! Here, take the food with
+thee. ’Tis as well to eat while thee can.”
+
+So insistent was she that the lad found himself hurried to a retreat
+behind some boxes in spite of himself. Peggy then hastened down-stairs
+to the good woman below. A quick glance at the girl told her that the
+boy was in hiding.
+
+“And do you go to my room, child,” she said pointing to a door under the
+stairway. “We will make no attempt at concealment, but ’tis more
+retired. It may be that they will not stop long. Goodness knows, there
+is not much left to take.”
+
+Peggy had scarcely gained the seclusion of the room ere the British
+cavalry dashed up.
+
+“In the name of the king, dinner,” called Colonel Tarleton, loudly.
+
+“Of course if you want dinner, I suppose that I’ll have to get it,”
+Peggy heard the mistress of the dwelling reply, grumblingly. “But some
+of your people have already been here, and you know ’tis against their
+principles to leave much.”
+
+A great laugh greeted this sally as the troopers dismounted, tying their
+horses to trees, or fences as was convenient.
+
+“Get us what you have, my good woman, and be quick about it,” Tarleton
+cried in answer. “We’ve come seventy miles in twenty-four hours, and
+must be in the saddle again in an hour’s time. Now be quick about that
+dinner.”
+
+The dragoons, seemingly too weary for anything but rest, flung
+themselves upon the grass to await the meal. Tarleton and one of his
+lieutenants stretched out upon the sward directly under the window of
+the room where Peggy was. For a time they lay there in silence, then the
+junior officer spoke:
+
+“Will it be possible for us to reach Charlottesville to-night, colonel?”
+
+“Charlottesville!” Peggy’s heart gave a great bound as she heard the
+name. Charlottesville was the place where the Assembly was in session at
+that very time. But Colonel Tarleton was speaking:
+
+“Not to-night, lieutenant. But to-morrow we’ll swoop upon the Assembly
+and take it unawares. By St. George, ’twill be rare sport to see their
+faces when they find themselves prisoners. Although I care more for
+Jefferson and Patrick Henry than all the others together. We’ll hang
+those two.”
+
+The girl wrung her hands as she listened. Jefferson, the governor of the
+state, the writer of the Declaration of Independence; and Patrick Henry,
+he who had been termed the Voice of the Revolution! Oh! it must not be!
+But how, how could it be prevented? They should be warned.
+
+“If I but knew where Charlottesville is,” cried the girl anguished by
+her helplessness. “What shall be done? Oh, I’ll ask Fairfax.”
+
+Up to the garret she sped unnoticed by any one. The troopers were
+outside, the members of the household busily engaged in preparing the
+dinner.
+
+“Friend Fairfax,” she called.
+
+“Yes,” answered the lad rising from behind the boxes.
+
+“Colonel Tarleton is after the Assembly at Charlottesville. He wants
+especially to capture the governor and Patrick Henry.”
+
+“Why, they’ll hang them if they do,” cried Fairfax excitedly. “How do
+you know, Mistress Peggy?”
+
+“I heard him say so,” answered Peggy. “Friend, what shall we do? They
+should be warned.”
+
+“Yes,” he answered. “That is what I must do.”
+
+“Thee?” she cried, amazed. “Why, thee is weak and sick, Friend Fairfax.
+Thee cannot go.”
+
+“I must. Oh,” he groaned. “If I but had a horse. If I but had a horse I
+could get to Charlottesville before them.”
+
+“It might cost thee thy life,” the girl reminded him. “Thee is too ill
+to go.”
+
+“What am I but one among many?” he said. “I must try to steal one of
+their horses.”
+
+“Thee need not run such risk. Thee shall have my own little Star,” cried
+Peggy thrillingly. “We can go now to the room under the stairs, and
+while the troopers are at dinner, slip through the window and down to
+the grove where she lies hidden. Come, friend.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII—A QUESTION OF COURAGE
+
+
+               “What makes a hero?—An heroic mind,
+               Express’d in action, in endurance prov’d.”
+
+                                       —Sir Henry Taylor.
+
+As they reached the door of the room under the stairs, however, their
+hostess came into the hall. A frown contracted her brow at sight of
+Fairfax.
+
+“This is folly,” she exclaimed. “Boy, don’t you know that Tarleton’s
+troopers are outside?”
+
+“Yes; and they plan to go to Charlottesville after dinner to capture the
+Assembly,” Peggy told her before the youth could reply. “Friend Fairfax
+is to slip away to warn them.”
+
+“Come in here,” she said drawing them into the dining-room. “Now,”
+speaking rapidly as she closed the door, “what is the plan? I may be
+able to help.”
+
+“We are going through the window of thy room to the grove where my horse
+is while thee gives them dinner,” explained the maiden.
+
+“Why, child, that won’t do at all. They will leave a guard outside, of
+course. You could not pass them. Let me think.”
+
+For a brief second she meditated while the boy and the girl waited
+hopefully.
+
+“Are you able to do this?” she asked presently of Fairfax.
+
+“Yes,” he answered. “Only devise some way for me to leave quickly. Every
+moment is precious.”
+
+“You are right,” she replied. “Now just a minute.”
+
+She left the room, returning almost immediately with two flowered frocks
+of osnaburg, and two enormous kerchiefs of the same stuff.
+
+“These are what the mammies wear,” she said arranging one of the
+kerchiefs about the lad’s head turbanwise. “There, my boy! you will pass
+for a mammy if not given more than a glance.”
+
+“Thee will make a good woman yet, Friend Fairfax,” remarked Peggy
+smiling as she noted that the youth moved with some ease in the skirts.
+
+“Yes,” he assented sheepishly.
+
+“Follow me boldly,” spoke the hostess. “We will pass through the yard
+from the kitchen to the smoke-house. If any of the dragoons call, mind
+them not. Above all turn not your faces toward them. Go on to the
+smoke-house, whatever happens. There is a back door through which you
+can go down the knoll to the ravine. Follow the ravine westward to the
+grove which lies back of the mill where the horse is. If you keep to the
+ravine ’twill lead you into the road unobserved by any. Now if
+everything is understood we will go.”
+
+They followed her silently through the kitchen and out into the yard.
+The hostess kept up a lively stream of talk during the passage to the
+smoke-house.
+
+“I reckon we’d better have another ham,” she said in a voice that could
+be heard at no little distance. “There are so many of those fellows.
+Aunt Betsy ‘low’d there were more than a hundred, and I reckon she’s
+right.” There were in truth one hundred and eighty cavalrymen, with
+seventy mounted infantry. “A few chickens wouldn’t go amiss either. They
+might as well have them. The next gang would take them anyway.” And so
+on.
+
+From all sides came grunts of satisfaction, showing that the remarks had
+been overheard by many of the dragoons, which was intended. The
+smoke-house was reached in safety, and the good woman led them to the
+rear door.
+
+“I’ll keep them here as long as I can,” she said, “if I have to cook
+everything on the place. You shall have at least two hours’ start, my
+boy. God bless you! It’s a brave thing you are doing, but those men must
+be warned.”
+
+“I know,” he answered. “And now good-bye.”
+
+“And do you stay in the grove until these British are gone, my dear,”
+she advised Peggy. “I will feel better to have you down there out of
+their sight. Jimmy shall come for you as soon as they are gone. You
+won’t mind?”
+
+“I shall like it,” answered Peggy. “Come, friend.”
+
+“I will have to ride hard and fast, Mistress Peggy,” said Fairfax. When
+they reached the grove a few moments later he removed Peggy’s saddle,
+strapped on a blanket, and unfastened the bridle. “It may be the last
+time you will see your little mare.”
+
+“I know,” she answered. Winding her arms about the pony’s neck she laid
+her head upon the silken mane, and so stood while the lad doffed the
+osnaburg frock and disfiguring turban. As he swung himself lightly to
+Star’s back the girl looked up at him through tear-filled eyes.
+
+“Friend Fairfax,” she said, “thee is so brave. Yet I have laughed at
+thee.”
+
+“Brave? No,” he responded. “’Tis duty.”
+
+“But I have laughed at thee because of thy shyness,” repeated the girl
+remorsefully. “Thee always seems so afraid of us females, yet thee can
+do this, or aught else that is for thy country. Why is it?”
+
+Over his face the red blood ran. He sat for the briefest second
+regarding her with a puzzled air.
+
+“To defend the country from the invader, to do anything that can be done
+to thwart the enemy’s designs, is man’s duty,” he said at length. “But
+to face a battery of bright eyes requires courage, Mistress Peggy. And
+that I have not.”
+
+The words were scarcely uttered before he was gone.
+
+The British were at the house, and some of them might stray into her
+retreat at any moment; the youth who had started forth so bravely might
+fail to give his warning in time to save the men upon whom the welfare
+of the state depended; she might never see her own little mare again;
+but, in spite of all these things the maiden sank upon a rock shaken
+with laughter.
+
+“The dear, shy fellow!” she gasped sitting up presently to wipe her
+eyes. “And he hath no courage! Ah, Betty! thy ‘Silent Knight’ hath
+spoken to some purpose at last. I must remember the exact words. Let me
+see! He said:
+
+“‘To defend the country from the invader, to do anything that can be
+done to thwart the enemy’s designs, is man’s duty. But to face a battery
+of bright eyes requires courage, Mistress Peggy. And that I have not.’
+
+“Won’t the girls laugh when I tell them?”
+
+It was pleasant under the trees. An oriole swung from the topmost bough
+of a large oak pouring forth a flood of song. Woodpeckers flapped their
+bright wings from tree to tree. A multitude of sparrows flashed in and
+out of the foliage, or circled joyously about blossoming shrubs. From
+distant fields and forests the caw of the crows winging their slow way
+across the blue sky came monotonously. A cloud of yellow butterflies
+rested upon the low banks of the ravine crowned with ferns. Into the
+heart of a wild honeysuckle a humming-bird whirred, delighting Peggy by
+its beauty, minuteness and ceaseless motion of its wings. And so the
+long hours of the afternoon passed, and the westering sun was casting
+long shadows under the trees before Jimmy came with the news that the
+British had gone.
+
+“And wasn’t that Colonel Tarleton in a towering rage,” commented the
+mistress of the dwelling as Peggy reëntered the house. “He stormed
+because dinner was so late. And such a dinner. I’ll warrant those
+troopers won’t find hard riding so easy after it. Thomas Jefferson and
+Patrick Henry will owe a great deal to fried chicken, if they get warned
+in time. It took every chicken I had on the place, and not a few hams.
+But it gave that boy a good start, so I don’t mind. Do you think he’ll
+get through, my dear?”
+
+“Yes, I do,” answered Peggy. “If it can be done I feel sure that Fairfax
+Johnson can do it. I must tell thee what he said,” she ended with a
+laugh. “It hath much amused me.”
+
+“I don’t wonder that you were amused,” observed the good woman, laughing
+in turn as Peggy related the youth’s speech. “Those same batteries have
+brought low many a brave fellow. ’Tis as well to be afraid of them. He
+is wise who is ware in time. Yet those same bashful fellows are ofttimes
+the bravest. Methinks I have heard that General Washington was afflicted
+with the same malady in his youth. And now let us hope that we will have
+a breathing spell long enough to become acquainted with each other.”
+
+Four days later a weary, drooping youth astride a limping little mare
+came slowly down the shady lane just at sunset. Peggy was the first to
+see them, and flew to the horse-block.
+
+“Oh, thee is back, Friend Fairfax! Thee is back!” she cried delightedly.
+“And did thee succeed? How tired thee looks! And Star also!”
+
+“We are both tired,” he said dismounting and sinking heavily against the
+horse-block. “But we got there in time. Governor Jefferson and his
+family escaped over the mountains. Mr. Henry and others scattered to
+places of safety. They captured seven, because they heeded not the
+alarm, and lingered over breakfast. But not—not Patrick Henry nor Thomas
+Jefferson.”
+
+He swayed as though about to fall, then roused himself.
+
+“Look to the mare! She, she needs attention,” he cried, and fell in an
+unconscious heap.
+
+“And somebody else does too, I reckon,” spoke the mistress of the
+dwelling, running out in answer to Peggy’s call. “Jimmy, do you begin
+rubbing down that little mare. I’ll be out to look after her as soon as
+Peggy and I get this boy attended to. Poor fellow! he has gone to the
+full limit of his strength.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV—AN UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER
+
+
+               “Then each at once his falchion drew,
+               Each on the ground his scabbard threw,
+               Each look’d to sun, and stream, and plain,
+               As what they ne’er might see again;
+               Then foot, and point, and eye opposed,
+               In dubious strife they darkly closed.”
+
+                              —“Lady of the Lake,” Scott.
+
+
+There followed some days of quiet at the farmhouse. Their peacefulness
+was gladly welcomed by the inmates after the turmoil caused by passing
+troops, and Peggy and her hostess, Mrs. Weston, hoped for a continuance
+of the boon. But if the days were tranquil they were far from idle.
+
+Beside the household tasks there were Fairfax Johnson to be cared for,
+and the little mare to be brought back to condition. Peggy found herself
+almost happy in assisting in these duties, so true is it that occupation
+brings solace to sorely tried hearts.
+
+The youth’s illness soon passed, but there remained the necessity for
+rest and nourishment. Rest he could have in plenty, but they were hard
+pressed to furnish the proper nourishment. The place had been stripped
+of almost everything, and had it not been for the grove where a few cows
+shared Star’s hiding-place, and an adjoining swamp in whose recesses
+Mrs. Weston had prudently stored some supplies the household must have
+suffered for the lack of the merest necessities. Still if they could
+remain unmolested they could bear scanty rations; so cheerfully they
+performed their daily tasks, praying that things would continue as they
+were.
+
+If there was peace at the farmhouse it was more than could be said for
+the rest of the state. Hard on the heels of Lafayette Cornwallis
+followed, cutting a swath of desolation and ruin. Tarleton and Simcoe
+rode wherever they would, committing such enormities that the people
+forgot them only with death. Virginia, the last state of the thirteen to
+be invaded, was harried as New Jersey had been, but by troops made less
+merciful by the long, fierce conflict.
+
+Hither and thither flitted Lafayette, too weak to suffer even defeat,
+progressing ever northward, and drawing his foe after him from
+tide-water almost to the mountains. Finding it impossible to come up
+with his youthful adversary, or to prevent the junction of that same
+adversary’s forces with those of Wayne, Cornwallis turned finally, and
+leisurely made his way back toward the seacoast. He had profited by
+Greene’s salutary lesson, and did not propose to be drawn again from a
+base where reinforcements and supplies could reach him. Information of
+these happenings gradually reached the farmhouse, filling its inmates
+with the gravest apprehensions.
+
+One warm, bright afternoon in June Peggy left the house for her daily
+visit to Star. With the caution that she always used in approaching the
+hiding-place of her pet the girl reached the grove by a circuitous
+route. A sort of rude stable, made of branches and underbrush set
+against ridge poles, had been erected for the pony’s accommodation, and
+as she drew near this enclosure Peggy heard the voice of some one
+speaking. Filled with alarm for the safety of her mare she stole softly
+forward to listen. Yes; there was certainly some one with the animal. As
+she stood debating what was to be done, she was amazed to hear the
+following speech made in a wondering tone:
+
+“Now just why should you be down here in Virginia when your proper place
+is in a stable in Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Star? Hath some magic
+art whisked you here, or what hath happened? I wish thee could speak, as
+Peggy would say, so that thee could unravel the matter for me.”
+
+“John! John Drayton!” screamed Peggy joyfully running forward. “How did
+thee get here? I thought thee was in South Carolina. ’Tis Peggy, John.”
+
+“Peggy?” exclaimed Drayton, issuing from the enclosure. “Peggy! I see it
+is,” he said regarding her with blank amazement. “But how did you get
+here? I thought you safe at home in Philadelphia?”
+
+“’Tis a long story,” cried she, half crying. “And oh, John! does thee
+know that Cornwallis is fast approaching this point with his army? Is’t
+not dangerous for thee to be here?”
+
+“Nay,” he replied. “I seek his lordship.”
+
+“Thee what?” she cried, amazed.
+
+“Never mind about it now, Peggy,” he said drawing her under the shade of
+a tree. “Sit down and tell me how you came here. Is it the ‘cousins’
+again?”
+
+“Yes, ’tis the cousins,” answered the maiden flushing. “I could not do
+other than come, John. Mother and I did not know that the enemy had
+invaded the state. At least,” correcting herself quickly, “we did know
+that General Arnold had made a foray in January, but ’twas deemed by
+many as but a predatory incursion, and, as we heard no more of it, we
+thought he had returned to New York. I saw him, and spoke with him,
+John,” she ended sadly.
+
+“But the cousins, Peggy! The rest can wait until you tell me what new
+quidnunc tale was invented to lure you here.”
+
+“Thee must not speak so, John,” she reproached him. “Thee will be sorry
+when I tell thee about Clifford’s illness. He was nigh to death, in
+truth, but ’twas not for me he sent, but his own sister Harriet.”
+Forthwith she related all the occurrences that had led to her coming.
+Drayton listened attentively.
+
+“I wish that you and your mother were not so kind hearted,” he remarked
+when she had finished her narrative. “No, I don’t mean that exactly. I
+could not, after all that you did for me. But from the bottom of my
+heart I do wish that those relatives of yours would go back to England
+and stay there. They are continually getting you into trouble.”
+
+“Would thee have us refuse my kinsman’s plea?” she asked him. “’Twould
+have been inhuman not to respond to such an appeal.”
+
+“I suppose it would,” he replied grumblingly. “But I don’t like it one
+bit that you are here among all the movements of the two armies. See
+here, Peggy! The thing to do is to get you home, and I’m going to take
+you there.”
+
+“Will thee, John?” cried Peggy in delight. “How good thee is! Oh, ’tis a
+way opened at last. But won’t it cause thee a great deal of trouble?”
+
+“So much, my little cousin, that we will not permit him to undertake
+it,” spoke the wrathful tones of her cousin. “I am sorry to interrupt so
+interesting a conversation, but ’tis necessary to explain to this,—well,
+gentleman, that ’tis not at all necessary for him to trouble concerning
+your welfare. I am amply able to care for you.”
+
+“Clifford!” ejaculated Peggy starting up in surprise, and confronting
+the youth, who had approached them unnoticed.
+
+“Yes, Clifford,” returned the lad who was evidently in a passion. “’Tis
+quite time that Clifford came, is it not? As I was saying, ’twill not do
+to take this gentleman from his arduous duties. This Yankee captain
+meddles altogether too much in our private affairs. It is not at all to
+my liking.”
+
+“So?” remarked Drayton cheerfully. He had not changed his position, but
+sat slightly smiling, eyeing the other youth curiously.
+
+“No, sir,” repeated Clifford heatedly. “We will not trouble you, sir.
+Further, we can dispense with your presence immediately.”
+
+“That,” observed Drayton shifting his position to one of more ease,
+“that, sir, is for Peggy to decide.”
+
+“My cousin’s name is Mistress Margaret Owen,” cried Clifford. “You will
+oblige me by using it so when ’tis necessary to address her. Better
+still, pleasure me by not speaking to her at all.”
+
+“Clifford, thou art beside thyself,” cried Peggy who had been too
+astonished at the attitude of her cousin to speak. “John is a dear
+friend. I have known him longer than I have thee, and——”
+
+“Peggy, keep out of this affair, I beg,” cried he stiffly. “The matter
+lies betwixt this fellow and myself. Captain, I cry you pardon,
+sir,”—interrupting himself to favor Drayton with an ironic bow,—“I fear
+me that I rank you too high. Lieutenant, is’t not?”
+
+“Nay, captain. Captain Drayton, at your service, sir.” The American
+arose slowly, and made a profound obeisance. “Methinks at our last
+little chat I remarked that perchance another victory would so honor me.
+’Twas at Hobkirk’s Hill.”
+
+“You said a victory, sir,” cried the other with passion. “Hobkirk’s Hill
+was a defeat for the rebels.”
+
+“A defeat, I grant you.” Drayton picked a thread of lint from his
+sleeve, and puffed it airily from him. “A defeat so fraught with
+disaster to the victors that many more such would annihilate the whole
+British army. A defeat so calamitous in effect that Lord Rawdon could no
+longer hold Camden after inflicting it, and so evacuated that place.”
+
+“’Tis false,” raged Clifford Owen. “If Lord Rawdon held Camden, he still
+holds it. He would evacuate no post held by him.”
+
+“Perchance there are other war news that might be of interest,” went on
+Drayton provokingly, evidently enjoying the other’s rage. “I have the
+honor to inform you, sir, that Fort Watson, Fort Motte and Granby all
+have surrendered to the rebels. They have proceeded to Ninety Six, and
+are holding that place in a state of siege. The next express will
+doubtless bring intelligence of its fall. Permit me, sir, to felicitate
+you upon the extreme prowess of the British army.”
+
+“And what, sir, is the American army?” stormed Clifford. “A company of
+tinkers and locksmiths. A lot of riffraff and ragamuffins. What is your
+Washington but a planter? And your much-lauded commander in the South?
+What is he but a smith? A smith?” he scoffed sneeringly. “Odds life,
+sir! can an army be made of such ilk?”
+
+“The planter hath sent two of your trained generals packing,” retorted
+Drayton. “The first left by the only ‘Gate’ left open by the siege; the
+other did not know ‘Howe’ to take root in this new soil. The third
+remains in New York like a mouse in a trap, afraid to come out lest he
+should be pounced upon. Our smith——” he laughed merrily. “His hammer
+hath been swung to such purpose that my Lord Cornwallis hath been
+knocked out of the Carolinas, and the South is all but retaken.
+Training! Poof! ’Tis not needed by tinkers and locksmiths to fight the
+English.”
+
+“Draw and defend yourself,” roared the English lad, whipping out his
+sword furiously. “Such insult can only be wiped out in blood.”
+
+“Thou shalt not,” screamed Peggy throwing herself before him. “Thou
+shalt not. I forbid it. ’Twould be murder.”
+
+“This is man’s affair, my cousin,” he said sternly. “Stand aside.”
+
+“I will not, Clifford,” cried the girl. “I will not. Oh, to draw sword
+on each other is monstrous. For a principle, in defense of liberty, then
+it may be permitted; but this deliberate seeking of another’s life in
+private quarrel is murder. Clifford! John! I entreat ye both to desist.”
+
+[Illustration: “DRAW AND DEFEND YOURSELF!”]
+
+“She is right, sir,” spoke Drayton. “This is in truth neither time nor
+place to settle our differences.”
+
+“And where shall we find a better?” cried Clifford, who was beside
+himself with rage. “If you wish not to bear the stigma of cowardice, you
+must draw.”
+
+But Drayton made no motion toward his sword.
+
+“Nay,” he said. “’Tis not fitting before her. I confess that I was wrong
+to further provoke you when I saw you in passion. In truth you were so
+heated that to exasperate you more gave me somewhat of pleasure. I cry
+you pardon. There will no doubt be occasion more suitable——”
+
+“I decline to receive your apology, sir,” retorted Clifford Owen hotly.
+“Perchance a more suitable occasion in your eyes would be when I am at
+the disadvantage of being a prisoner. Or, perchance, you find it
+convenient to hide behind my cousin’s petticoats. Once more, sir; for
+the last time: If you have honor, if you are not a poltroon as well as a
+braggart and a boaster, draw and defend yourself.”
+
+“It will have to be, Peggy,” said Drayton leading her aside. “There will
+be bad blood until this is settled, and your cousin hath gone too far.
+Suffer it to go on, I entreat.”
+
+“’Tis murder,” she wailed weeping. “Thou art my dear friend. Clifford is
+my dear cousin. Oh, I pray ye both to desist.”
+
+“If you flout me longer I will cut you down where you stand,” roared the
+British youth fiercely. “Is it not enough that I must beg for the
+satisfaction that gentlemen usually accord each other upon a hint?”
+
+Drayton wheeled, and faced him jauntily.
+
+“’Tis pity to keep so much valor waiting,” he said saluting. “On guard,
+my friend.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV—HER NEAREST RELATIVE
+
+
+                   “In all trade of war no feat
+                   Is nobler than a brave retreat;
+                   For those that run away and fly
+                   Take place at least of the enemy.”
+
+                                      —Samuel Butler.
+
+Fearful of what might result from the encounter Peggy hid her face in
+her hands as the two youths crossed swords. But at the first meeting of
+the blades, impelled by that strange fascination which such combats hold
+for the best of mortals, she uncovered her eyes and watched the duel
+breathlessly.
+
+Clifford, white and wrathful, fuming over Drayton’s last quip, at once
+took the initiative, and advanced upon his adversary with a vehemence
+that evidenced his emotion plainly. Drayton, on the contrary, was cool
+and even merry, and parried his opponent’s thrusts with adroitness. Both
+lads evinced no small skill with the weapons, and had Peggy been other
+than a very much distressed damsel she might have enjoyed some pretty
+sword play.
+
+The wrist of each youth was strong and supple. Each sword seemed like a
+flexible reed from the point to the middle of the blade, and inflexible
+steel from thence to the guard. They were well matched, and some moments
+passed before either of them secured the advantage.
+
+It was quiet in the grove. No sound could be heard save the clash of
+steel and the deep breathing of the contestants. No bird note came from
+tree or bush. Not a leaf stirred. A hush had fallen upon the summer
+afternoon. To the maiden it seemed as though Nature, affrighted by the
+wild passions of men which must seek expression in private fray despite
+the fact that their countries were embroiled in war, had sunk into
+terrified silence.
+
+Presently, even to Peggy’s inexperienced eye, it became apparent that
+Clifford was tiring. Drayton, who from the beginning of the encounter
+had fought purely on the defensive, was quick to perceive the other’s
+fatigue. Suddenly with a vigorous side-thrust he twisted the sword from
+his antagonist’s grasp, and sent it glittering in the air. Finding
+himself disarmed Clifford quickly stepped backward two or three steps.
+In so doing his foot slipped, and he fell. Instantly Drayton stood over
+his prostrate form.
+
+“Forbear, John,” shrieked Peggy in horrified tones. “Thee must not. Is
+he not helpless?”
+
+“Have no fear, Peggy,” answered the young man lightly. “He shall meet
+with no hurt, though in truth he merits it. Sir,” to Clifford who lay
+regarding him with a look of profound humiliation, “you hear, do you
+not? I spare you because of her. And also because I am much to blame
+that matters have come to this pass betwixt us. Rise, sir!”
+
+“I want no mercy at your hands,” retorted the other, his flushed face,
+his whole manner testifying to his deep mortification. “You have won the
+advantage, sir. Use it. I wish no favor from you.”
+
+“’Tis not the habit of Americans to slay a disarmed foe, sir. If you are
+not satisfied, rise; and have to again.”
+
+“No, no!” cried Peggy, possessing herself of the fallen sword. “Is there
+not already fighting enough in the land without contending against each
+other? Ye have fought once. Let that suffice.”
+
+“My sword, Peggy,” exclaimed Clifford, rising, and stepping toward her.
+
+“Thee shall not have it, unless thee takes it by force,” returned the
+girl, placing the weapon behind her, and clasping it with both hands.
+“And that,” she added, “I do not believe thee would be so unmannerly as
+to use. Therefore, the matter is ended.”
+
+Drayton sheathed his sword on the moment.
+
+“I am satisfied to let it be so,” he said. “And now, Peggy, as to
+ourselves: what will be the best time for you to start home?”
+
+“If that subject be renewed our broil is anything but settled,”
+interposed Clifford Owen sullenly. “I believe I informed you that, as
+the lady’s nearest relative, I am amply able to look after her.”
+
+“As to our quarrel,” replied Drayton, regarding him fixedly, “perchance
+the whirligig of time will bring a more suitable occasion for reopening
+it. When that occurs I shall be at your command. Until then it seems to
+me to be the part of wisdom to drop the matter, and to consider Peggy’s
+welfare only. As you are aware, no doubt, the British are in this
+immediate vicinity. Any moment may see them at this very place. Let us
+cry a truce, sir, for the time being, and determine what shall be done
+to promote her safety.”
+
+“How know you that the British are near here?” demanded Clifford
+suspiciously. “Your knowledge of their movements will bear looking into.
+It savors strongly of that of a spy, sir.”
+
+For a second the glances of the young fellows met. Their eyes flashed
+fire, and Peggy’s heart began to throb painfully. Oh, would they fight
+again! How could she make peace between them? She must; and so thinking
+started forward eagerly.
+
+“Listen to my plan,” she said. “Ye both——”
+
+The sentence was never finished. Upon the air there sounded the shrill
+music of fifes, the riffle of drums, the hollow tramp of marching men,
+the rumbling of artillery, the cantering of horses; all sounds denoting
+the passing of a large force of armed men.
+
+With a sharp cry of exultation Clifford Owen sprang toward John Drayton.
+
+“’Tis the king’s troops,” he cried, clutching him tightly. “The king’s
+troops! Now, my fine fellow, you shall explain to his lordship how you
+came by your information. Ho!” he shouted. “What ho! a spy!”
+
+“It is not thus that I would meet his lordship,” answered Drayton
+wrenching himself free of the other’s hold. “Until then, adieu, my
+friend.”
+
+Without further word he leaped down the embankment, and disappeared
+among the underbrush in the ravine, just as two British infantrymen,
+attracted by Clifford’s cry, came running through the grove.
+
+“Did you call, sir?” called one, saluting as he saw the uniform of the
+young man.
+
+“I fell,” answered Clifford, stooping to pick up the sword that Peggy
+had let fall. “Perchance I cried out as I did so. The embankment would
+be a steep one to fall down. Does the army stop here? I sent word to the
+general there was no forage to be had, and to pass on to Hanover Court
+House. I found no place where he would fare so well as at Tilghman’s
+Ordinary.”
+
+“’Tis for that place he is bound, sir,” replied the soldier, saluting
+again. “But a few of us delayed here to—to——” he paused, then added:
+“Shall we go through that enclosure there, captain?”
+
+“My own little mare is there, Clifford,” spoke Peggy indignantly.
+
+“Which we will bring ourselves, men,” he said dismissing them with a
+curt nod. “You will wish to ride her, of course, my cousin.”
+
+“If I go with you,” she answered.
+
+“There is no ‘if’ about it,” he said grimly. “You are going.”
+
+“‘As my nearest male relative in this part of the country’ I suppose
+thee commands it,” she observed with biting sarcasm. “Clifford, does
+thee forget that I am an Owen as well as thou?”
+
+“I do not,” he made answer.
+
+“I think thee does,” she cried. “An Owen, my cousin, with the Owen
+temper. ’Tis being tried severely by thee. I know not how much longer I
+can control it.”
+
+“I see not why you should be displeased with me,” he remarked, plainly
+surprised that such should be the case. “I am doing all I can for you.
+At least, I will try to do as much as that—that——”
+
+“Yes?” she questioned coldly. “Does thee mean Captain Drayton? He is my
+friend. Mother and I esteem him highly. Pleasure me by remembering that
+in future.”
+
+“If he is your friend ’tis no reason why he should address you so
+familiarly. I like it not.”
+
+“I tire of thy manner, Clifford. I am not thy slave, nor yet under bonds
+of indenture to thee that thou shouldst assume such airs of possession
+as thee does. I tire of it, I say.”
+
+“If I have offended you I am sorry,” he said sulkily. “I have a hot
+temper and a quick one. I have held resentment against that—captain ever
+since last February, when he flouted me with that shirt of my sister’s
+making. It did seem to me then, as it hath to-day, that he took too much
+upon himself. Now it appears that I am guilty of the same fault. At
+least, being your near relative should serve as some excuse for me.”
+
+“I think thee has made that remark upon divers occasions, my cousin. Is
+not thy father with Lord Cornwallis?”
+
+“Yes, of course. Why?”
+
+“Then kindly remember that being cousin-german to my father, he stands
+in nearer relationship to me than thee does. Should I have need of
+guidance I will ask it of him. Does thee understand, my cousin?”
+
+“Only too well,” he burst forth. “And all this for the sake of a Yankee
+captain. Oh, I noticed how solicitous you were lest he should be hurt.”
+
+“And was solicitude not shown for thee also? Thou art unjust, Clifford.”
+
+With crestfallen air the youth led Star from the rude stable, and
+without further conversation they started for the house.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI—TIDE-WATER AGAIN
+
+
+              “Now all is gone! the stallion made a prey,
+              The few brood mares, and oxen swept away;
+              The Lares,—if the household shrine possessed
+              One little god that pleased above the rest;
+              Mean spoils indeed!”
+
+                                   —“Juvenal,” 8th Satire.
+
+A cry of horror broke from Peggy’s lips as they came in sight of the
+house. The barns, granaries, smoke-houses, and other dependencies were
+in flames. Clothing and even furniture were being carted from the
+dwelling by the soldiery; that which could be carried easily being
+appropriated by them, and the rest consigned to the fires. At some
+little distance from the dwelling, pale but composed, bearing herself
+with the fortitude of a Roman matron, stood Mrs. Weston, surrounded by a
+group of wailing slaves, her little boy clinging to her skirts. She
+beckoned the girl to her side when she caught sight of the cousins.
+
+“They are leaving nothing, absolutely nothing,” she whispered. “How we
+shall sustain life, if that is left us, is a problem I dare not face.
+They found the cows.”
+
+“Oh,” breathed Peggy. “What shall thee do? And Fairfax?”
+
+“Is undiscovered so far. If the house is not burnt he may remain so. The
+boy wanted to fight this whole force. I had hard work to convince him of
+the folly of such a course. And you, Peggy? You will go with your
+cousin, will you not?”
+
+“Why, how did thee know ’twas my cousin?” queried Peggy in surprise.
+
+“’Tis plain to be seen that he is kin, child. The resemblance is very
+strong. Perhaps I did wrong, but when he came this afternoon to look
+over the place as a possible site for some of the army to camp I thought
+at once that it must be your British cousin. When he told me that his
+lordship was to make his headquarters at Tilghman’s Ordinary at Hanover
+Court House, and that the whole of the army would have to be quartered
+in the near vicinity, I knew what that meant. So I took it upon myself
+to tell him at once where you were, and sent him in search of you. Go
+with him, Peggy. The safest place in the state at the present time is in
+the enemy’s lines. ’Tis the wisest thing to do. And oh, my dear! My
+dear! don’t start out again alone so long as this awful war continues.
+Go with your cousin.”
+
+“I fear me that I must,” said the maiden sadly. “But if I do what hope
+is left me of getting home? After these troops pass on, the road will be
+clear, will it not? Then what would be the risk for me to start forth?
+If I could get to our own lines thee knows that all would be well.
+Surely our army is somewhere near.”
+
+“’Tis not to be considered for an instant, child,” spoke the matron
+quickly. “After the regular army hath its fill of pillage there always
+comes the riffraff to gather up what their masters have left. Scoundrels
+they are; utterly devoid of every instinct of humanity. I would not have
+you meet with them for the world. Peggy, be advised by me in this, and
+ride on with your cousin.”
+
+“I must go,” broke from Peggy. “I see that I must. But ’tis bitter to go
+back; ’tis bitter to be compelled to be with such an enemy as this army;
+’tis bitter also to leave thee like this, destitute of everything. How
+terrible a thing is war,” she cried bursting into sudden weeping. “Oh,
+will the time never come when nations shall war no more? I long for the
+day when the sword shall be turned into the ploughshare, and the spear
+into the pruning-hook.”
+
+“And so do we all,” cried Mrs. Weston taking the girl into a tender
+embrace, for she perceived that she was near the limit of endurance.
+“Now mount that little mare of yours, and go right on with your cousin.”
+She motioned Clifford to approach. “Unless your orders are such that you
+cannot, young man,” she said, “take your cousin away from here at once.”
+
+“I will do so gladly, madam, if she will but go with me,” he returned.
+“Will you come, my cousin?”
+
+“I must, Clifford,” answered Peggy, striving for composure. “There seems
+naught else for me to do. Mrs. Weston thinks it the wisest course.”
+
+“I thank you, madam,” he said bowing courteously. “And I pray you
+believe me when I say that this plundering and burning are not at all to
+my liking. ’Tis winked at by the leaders, and for that reason we, who
+are of minor rank and who do not approve such practices, must bear with
+them. Come, my cousin.”
+
+“For those words, Clifford, I will forgive thee everything,” exclaimed
+the overwrought girl.
+
+“There are many who feel as I do,” he said assisting her to mount. “I
+like army life, my cousin. There is nothing so inspiring to my mind as
+the blare of bugle, or the beat of drum. The charge, the roar of
+musketry, the thunder of artillery, all fill me with joy. They are as
+the breath of life to my nostrils. Glory and honor lie in the field; but
+this predatory warfare, these incursions that for their end and aim have
+naught but the destruction of property—Faugh!” he concluded abruptly.
+“Fame is not to be gained in such fashion.”
+
+In silence they rode down the shaded lane to the road. The main army had
+long since passed on, but the rear guard and baggage train still filled
+the cleared stretch of road from which the lane turned. As had been the
+case in every state that the English had entered, a number of loyalists
+with their families flocked to the British standard, and traveled with
+the army. Clifford, who was obliged to rejoin his command, found a place
+for Peggy among these persons, promising to return as soon as possible.
+
+The company was not at all congenial to the girl. The feeling between
+loyalist and patriot was not such that either was easy in the presence
+of the other. Women are ever more intensely partisan than men, and the
+comments of some of these latter against their own countrymen tried
+Peggy severely, but she bore it patiently, knowing that this was the
+best that could be done in the matter. When at last Hanover Court House
+was reached, Clifford came to see about accommodations for her; and on
+this, as well as the days that followed, Peggy had no cause to complain
+of his manner. That little reference concerning the nearer kinship of
+his father had been productive of good fruit, and he no longer insisted
+upon his own relationship offensively. So agreeable was his behavior
+that when, at length, he brought his father to her she said not one word
+to Colonel Owen about placing herself under his care. The colonel
+himself seemed in high good humor, and greeted her with something of
+affection.
+
+“And so we are met again, my little cousin,” he said warmly. “Clifford
+tells me why you are in this part of the country, and it seems that ’tis
+to your nursing that he owes his continuance upon this mundane sphere.
+Harriet hath not yet returned to New York, I understand, so we will be a
+reunited family. It hath been some years since we have had that
+pleasure. ’Twill be all the greater for having you with us.”
+
+“I thank thee, Cousin William,” answered Peggy, responding at once to
+his unexpected graciousness. “And thee will be glad to know that Harriet
+hath quite recovered from her illness. She grows more beautiful, I
+think, were that possible.”
+
+“And this son of mine? What think you of him?” asked he. “I had some
+cause for offense with him, but since he hath shown himself worthy to
+follow in my footsteps I have forgot displeasure. He looks like David,
+does he not?”
+
+“So much, my cousin, that I cannot but think that he should be my
+father’s son instead of thine. How strange that he should look so much
+like him!”
+
+“Yes. And I’ll warrant because of that you consider him better looking
+than his father,” said Colonel Owen laughing heartily.
+
+“But father hath uncommon good looks,” answered she. “And thee does
+resemble him to some extent.”
+
+“Well,” he said laughing again, “I suppose I’ll have to be satisfied
+with that. Now, Peggy, if this boy does not look well to your comfort,
+just let me know. I am obliged to be with my regiment, but I shall
+manage to look in upon you occasionally. Captain Williams,” he made a
+wry face at the name, “hath somewhat more leisure.”
+
+And so Peggy found herself well cared for, and in truth she needed much
+comfort in the ensuing days. Of that march when Cornwallis continued his
+retreat toward tide-water she never willingly spoke. To Point of Fork
+and then down the river to Richmond the British commander proceeded by
+leisurely marches, stopping often for rest, and oftener to permit his
+troops time for depredations. Scene after scene of rapine followed each
+other so rapidly that the march seemed one long panorama of destruction.
+She thought that she knew war in all its horrors. Their own farm had
+been pillaged, their barn burned, and they had suffered much from the
+inroads of the enemy; but all this was as naught to what Virginia had to
+endure.
+
+It had come to mean comparatively nothing to these people to see their
+fruits, fowls and cattle carried away by the light troops. The main army
+followed, collecting what the vanguard left. Stocks of cattle, sheep and
+hogs together with what corn was wanted were used for the sustenance of
+the army. All horses capable of service were carried off; throats of
+others too young to use were cut ruthlessly. Growing crops of corn and
+tobacco were burned, together with barns containing the same articles of
+the preceding year, and all fences of plantations, so as to leave an
+absolute waste. This hurricane, which destroyed everything in its path,
+was followed by a scourge yet more terrible—the numerous rabble of
+refugees which came after, not to assist in the fighting, but to partake
+of the plunder, to strip the inhabitants of clothes and furniture which
+was in general the sole booty left to satisfy their avidity. Many of
+these atrocities came directly under the girl’s vision; there were
+others of which she was mercifully spared any knowledge.
+
+In ignorance also was she of the fact that hard after them, not twenty
+miles away, rode Lafayette. His forces augmented by additions from
+Greene, by the Pennsylvanians under Wayne, by Baron Steuben’s command,
+and by the militia under General Nelson, he no longer feared to strike a
+blow, and so became the hunter instead of the hunted. Consequently there
+was constant skirmishing between the van and the rear of the two armies.
+
+The month was drawing to a close when the army fell back to
+Williamsburg, and halted. The heat had become so intense that the troops
+were easily exhausted, and necessity compelled a rest. Peggy was glad
+when the spire of Bruton Church came into sight.
+
+“I am so tired, Clifford,” she said wearily when the lad came to her as
+the army entered the place from the west. “Tired and sick at heart. I
+know not what form is used in leaving, if any, but if there be custom of
+any sort to observe, let it be done quickly, I pray thee. And then let
+us go to the cottage to Nurse Johnson.”
+
+“There is no form to comply with,” he said, regarding her with
+compassion. “We will go at once, though not to the cottage. Father hath
+taken a house more commodious on the Palace Green, and hath sent me for
+you. Harriet will be there also.”
+
+And, though well she knew that taking a house meant in this instance the
+turning out of the inmates that they might be lodged, Peggy, knowing
+that protest would be of no avail, went with him silently.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII—PEGGY RECEIVES A SHOCK
+
+
+                 “Chains are round our country pressed,
+                   And cowards have betrayed her,
+                 And we must make her bleeding breast
+                   The grave of the invader.”
+
+                                               —Bryant.
+
+Harriet, with her chestnut hair flying in a maze of witching ringlets,
+her eyes starry with radiance, came dancing to meet them as they entered
+the house which Colonel Owen had taken for his use.
+
+“Father told me that you had come,” she cried embracing Peggy
+rapturously. “Is it not delightsome that we are all together at last,
+Peggy? Here are father, Clifford, you, and last, but not least, your
+most humble and devoted servant, Mistress Harriet Owen. Oh, I am so
+happy! And why did you run away, you naughty girl? Still, had you not
+done so I should have missed seeing father and the army.”
+
+“I was trying to get home,” answered Peggy, forgetting her weariness in
+admiration of her cousin’s beauty, and wondering also at her
+light-heartedness.
+
+“Home to that poky Philadelphia, where tea and rusks, or a morning visit
+are the only diversions?” laughed Harriet. “You quaint little Quakeress,
+don’t you know that now that the army hath come we shall have routs,
+kettledrums, and assemblies to no end?”
+
+“Be not so sure of that, Harriet,” spoke her brother. “Lord Cornwallis
+is not so inclined toward such things as is Sir Henry Clinton. He is
+chiefly concerned for this business of warfare.”
+
+“On the march, I grant you, Clifford, but when the army camps there are
+always pleasurings. ’Twas so at Charlestown, and Camden, and ’tis the
+case in New York. We shall have a gay time, Peggy.”
+
+“Suppose, Harriet, that you begin giving our cousin a good time by
+taking her to a room where she may rest,” suggested the youth. “Do you
+not see that she is greatly fatigued? The march hath been a hard one.”
+
+“She does indeed look tired,” remarked Harriet glancing at Peggy
+critically. “Come on, Peggy. I’ll take you to our room. ’Tis much larger
+than the one we shared at Nurse Johnson’s.”
+
+And so chatting she conducted the weary girl to a large, airy chamber on
+the second floor of the dwelling, leaving her with reluctance at length
+to seek the rest of which Peggy stood so much in need.
+
+Meanwhile, much to the consternation of the citizens of Williamsburg,
+the entire army marched in and took possession of the little city.
+Cornwallis seized upon the president’s house at the college for his
+headquarters, forcing that functionary with his family to seek refuge in
+the main college building. As the origin of the institution was so
+thoroughly English, and it had remained in part faithful to the mother
+country, he caused it to be strenuously guarded from destruction, or
+injury of any sort. Indeed, this attitude had been maintained toward the
+college by all the English throughout the war.
+
+Officers of the highest rank followed the example set them by their
+commander, and seized upon whatever dwelling pleased their fancy,
+sometimes permitting the rightful owners to reserve a few rooms for
+their own use; more often turning them out completely to find shelter
+wherever they could. The men of minor rank took what their superiors
+left, while the rank and file camped in the open fields surrounding the
+town. Parties were sent out daily on foraging expeditions, and once more
+York peninsula was swept by the devastating invader.
+
+Of all that occurred in the five days that succeeded the army’s entry
+into the city Peggy knew nothing. She was so utterly worn out that she
+did not leave her room, and alarmed by this unusual lassitude in her
+Colonel Owen insisted that she should keep to her bed. By the end of the
+week, however, she felt quite herself again, and resolving to seek Nurse
+Johnson without delay, she arose and dressed herself.
+
+“I must tell her of Fairfax,” she thought as she went down the stairs to
+the drawing-room. “It hath been unkind in me to keep the poor woman
+waiting so for news of her son, but I have in truth been near to
+illness. I know not when my strength hath been so severely tried. Peggy,
+thee must display more fortitude. I fear thee has a long wait before
+thee ere thee shall behold thy home again, and thee must call forth all
+thy endurance to meet it. Megrims have no place in thy calendar, Peggy.”
+
+Thus chiding herself she reached the drawing-room where Colonel Owen sat
+with his son and daughter.
+
+“’Tis quite time you came down, my little cousin,” cried the colonel as
+she entered the room. “Clifford here hath been importuning me to have a
+surgeon, to dose you with Jesuit’s bark, and I know not what else.
+Zounds! the boy hath shown as much solicitude as if it had been Harriet.
+I had hard work to convince him that all you needed was rest.”
+
+“Clifford hath been most kind, Cousin William,” she said. “And so have
+you all. I could not have been more tenderly cared for at home. Fatigue
+was all that ailed me, however, and I have now recovered from that.”
+
+“Come! that’s good news,” cried William Owen. “And now you shall hear
+something of great import. This son of mine hath quite puffed me up with
+pride. It seems that Earl Cornwallis wished some boats and stores of the
+rebels on the Chickahominy River destroyed, and all the cattle
+thereabouts brought in for the use of the army. He detailed Colonel
+Simcoe to accomplish the matter. Now mark, Peggy! what does this same
+Colonel Simcoe do but ask for Captain Williams, Captain Williams,
+understand, to accompany him, avowing that he was one of the most
+promising young officers in the army. It seems also that a little
+skirmish took place between the rebels and Simcoe’s forces in which a
+certain Captain Williams particularly distinguished himself. Egad! I
+hear encomiums on all sides as to his conduct. Would that his commission
+was in his own name!”
+
+“And what do you think, Peggy?” exclaimed Harriet before Peggy could
+make reply to her cousin. “Your old friend——”
+
+“Harriet,” interrupted Clifford warningly. “We agreed not to speak of
+that.”
+
+“What is it, Clifford?” asked Peggy turning to him with alarm. “Hath any
+of my friends met with injury? Hath any been made a prisoner? Or
+wounded? Or—or killed?”
+
+“No,” he told her kindly. “None of these things has happened. One of
+your friends took part in the engagement which father has just
+mentioned. There occurred an incident after the mêlée which was curious,
+but ’twas nothing that should concern you. I would rather not tell you
+about it. You will know it soon enough.”
+
+“If none of those things happened,” she said relieved, “there is naught
+else that I care about if thee does not wish me to know. Was thy side
+the victor, my cousin?”
+
+“Yes; though I understand that the rebels claim it also. The loss was
+quite heavy on both sides for so small an action. You are arrayed for
+the street, Peggy? Are you going out?”
+
+“To Nurse Johnson’s, Clifford. I saw her son while away, and she would
+be glad to have news of him,” Peggy explained frankly. “I ought to have
+gone before this.”
+
+“I would not go elsewhere, and I were you,” he said. “Harriet and I are
+going for a short ride after parade. Would you like to accompany us?”
+
+“Yes,” she replied. “I will not stay long, Clifford.”
+
+Peggy started forth with this intention, but it took some little time to
+reach the cottage so filled were the streets with troops. It seemed to
+the girl that every foot of ground held a red coat. When she at length
+arrived at the place it was to find Nurse Johnson out. She would soon be
+back, she was told, so the girl sat down to wait for her. Finally the
+good woman made her appearance, but there was so much to tell that it
+was high noon before the visit was ended.
+
+“I shall miss the ride,” mused Peggy passing quickly through the tiny
+orchard to the gate which opened on Palace Street. “I hope that my
+cousins won’t wait for me, or that they will not be annoyed. Why, John!”
+
+For as she turned from shutting the gate she came face to face with John
+Drayton.
+
+“Is thee mad,” she cried, “to venture here like this? ’Tis certain
+death, John.”
+
+“Is anything liable to happen to a fellow who wears such a garb as this
+in a British camp?” he asked indicating his clothes by a careless
+gesture.
+
+Peggy’s glance swept him from head to foot. He was clad in the uniform
+of a British officer, and seemed not at all concerned as to his safety.
+An awful suspicion clutched her, and again her gaze took in every detail
+of that telltale uniform. Then her eyes sought his face and she looked
+at him searchingly, as though she would read his very soul. Suddenly she
+leaned forward and touched the red coat fearfully.
+
+“What doth it mean?” she whispered, all her apprehension and doubt
+contained in the query.
+
+Over Drayton’s face swept a swift indescribable change at her words. He
+drew a deep breath before answering, and when he spoke his voice held a
+harshness she had never heard before:
+
+“What doth such a thing usually mean, Peggy?”
+
+“Not, not that, John,” she cried piteously. “Thee can’t mean what that
+uniform says. Thee can’t mean that, John?”
+
+“Just that,” he answered tersely.
+
+With a low cry she shrank from him, her eyes wide with horror.
+
+“A deserter! Thou?” she breathed.
+
+“Even I, Peggy.”
+
+All the color left her face. She swayed as though about to fall, but
+when Drayton put forth his arm to support her she waved him back. For a
+long time Peggy stood so overwhelmed that she could not speak. Then she
+murmured brokenly:
+
+“But why? Why?”
+
+“I will answer you as I did his lordship,” replied the youth clearly.
+“When he asked that same question, I said: ‘My lord, I have served from
+the beginning of this war. While my commander was an American it was all
+right, but when I was sent here to be under a Frenchman I thought it
+time to quit the service.’”
+
+“And is that all thy reason?”
+
+“Is it not reason enough, Peggy?”
+
+“No,” she cried passionately. “It is not. Oh, I see it all! Thee has
+heard from General Arnold.”
+
+“Why should you think that?” Drayton regarded her queerly. “What would
+hearing from him have to do with my desertion?”
+
+“Everything,” she answered wildly. “He hath wooed thee from thy
+allegiance, as he said he would. ’Twas on this very spot that he boasted
+that not two months would pass before thee would be fighting by his
+side. And I defended thee because I believed that naught could turn thee
+from thy country. Why look thee, John! how short hath been the time
+since thou wert made a captain! For valor, thee said, at Hobkirk’s
+Hill.”
+
+“That was under Greene,” he made answer. “He is not a frog-eating
+Frenchman.”
+
+“Yet that same Frenchman hath left country and family to give his
+services, his money, his life if necessary to help an alien people in
+their fight for liberty. And thee cannot fight under such a man because,
+forsooth, he is French. French,” with cutting scorn, “who would not
+rather be French, English, German, or aught else than an American who
+would desert his country for so small a thing?”
+
+“Don’t, Peggy,” he pleaded. “It—it hurts.”
+
+“And I have been so proud of thee,” she went on unheeding his plea, her
+voice thrilling with the intensity of her feeling. “So proud of thee at
+Middlebrook, when thee was spoken of as a lad of parts. So proud when
+General Washington himself said he wished the whole army had thy spirit.
+I treasured those words, John Drayton. And again I have been proud of
+thy conduct in battle, and for all thy career, because I thought of thee
+as my soldier. Oh!” she cried with passion, “I would rather thee had
+died in battle; and yet, from the opening to the close of every campaign
+I have prayed nightly that thee might be spared.”
+
+Drayton adjusted his neck ruffles, and swallowed hard.
+
+“Peggy,” he said. “Peggy——” and paused.
+
+“I think my heart will break,” she sobbed; and with that last cry she
+left him standing there.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII—VERIFIED SUSPICIONS
+
+
+             “The way is long, my children, long and rough,
+             The moors are dreary, the woods are dark;
+             But he that creeps from cradle on to grave,
+             Unskil’d save in the velvet course of fortune,
+             Hath miss’d the discipline of noble hearts.”
+
+                                                 —Old Play.
+
+How could he do it? the girl asked herself as she made her way with
+unseeing eyes back to her cousin’s dwelling. After all his years of
+service, after enduring hardships that would tax any man’s soul to the
+utmost, to desert now. What had become of the spirit that had carried
+him through all that dreadful march through the wilderness to Quebec?
+Where was the enthusiasm that had sustained him through the disastrous
+campaigns of South Carolina? Oh, it was past all belief!
+
+Many patriots, she knew, had come to consider the American cause
+hopeless; many of the best men were weary of the long war; many also had
+lost interest because of the French Alliance; but that John Drayton had
+deserted because he had been sent to serve under the Marquis de
+Lafayette she could not believe. Had he not told her with exultation at
+Middlebrook that he was to be in that same Marquis’s corps of light
+infantry?
+
+That was not the reason, she told herself miserably. It was plain to her
+that he had heard from the traitor Arnold who, to add to his infamy, had
+sought repeatedly to corrupt the men of his former command. Undoubtedly
+Drayton had been won from his allegiance through his affection for his
+old leader.
+
+Harriet and Clifford cantered to the gate just as she was entering the
+door of the dwelling. Harriet called to her gleefully as she dismounted:
+
+“You should have gone with us, Peggy. ’Twas vastly enjoyable. What think
+you? Lord Cornwallis himself rode with us for a time. He is to dine with
+father on Monday. Why! what hath happened?” she broke off at sight of
+her cousin’s pale cheeks and woe-filled eyes.
+
+“She hath seen the Yankee captain,” exclaimed Clifford joining them. “Is
+not that the trouble, my cousin?”
+
+“Yes,” assented Peggy drearily. “I saw him, Clifford. Oh!” with sudden
+enlightenment, “was his desertion what thee was keeping from me?”
+
+“That was it, Peggy. I knew that you would know that he had joined us
+some time, but I hoped that it could be kept from you until you were
+stronger.”
+
+“Thee is very thoughtful,” said Peggy her eyes filling at this kindness.
+“Still, Clifford, ’tis as well to know it now. Time could not allay one
+pang caused by treachery.”
+
+“Peggy,” said her cousin abruptly, “you talked with him, did you not?”
+
+“Yes, Clifford.”
+
+“And do you consider him sincere when he says that the reason for his
+desertion is that he was sent to serve under the Marquis de Lafayette?”
+
+“No,” she returned apathetically. “No, Clifford.”
+
+“Ah!” he cried triumphantly. “I thought so. You think with me, then, my
+little cousin, that the fellow is a spy?”
+
+“A spy?” A light flashed into the girl’s eyes, and she looked at him
+eagerly. It faded as quickly as it came, however, and she shook her head
+sadly. “He is no spy,” she said. “I would he were, so that he was true
+to liberty.”
+
+“Then I beg of you to tell me his true reason for deserting,” he urged.
+“I like him not; nay, nor do I trust him, yet if he be sincere in
+renewing his allegiance to our king then I will give o’er my suspicions
+regarding him.”
+
+“I believe that ’twas caused by General Arnold,” she told him. “Last
+spring when he was here in Williamsburg he boasted that John would soon
+be fighting with him. He hath won him from his duty through his
+affection, for John loved him greatly. I doubt not his sincerity,” she
+concluded with such anguish in her tones that Harriet was touched.
+
+“He isn’t worth a thought, Peggy,” she cried. “And what else could you
+expect from John Drayton?”
+
+“She speaks truth, my cousin,” said Clifford. “Desertions occur daily
+from both sides. Those who are guilty of them are not persons actuated
+by the highest motives. I would think no more of it.”
+
+“Don’t,” exclaimed the girl struggling for control. “He was my friend.
+Thee must not speak of him like that. Oh!” she cried with a burst of
+tears, “how shall I bear it?”
+
+“Tell her how it occurred, Cliff,” suggested Harriet. “She might just as
+well know all about it.”
+
+“Yes, tell me,” said Peggy looking up through her tears. “I want to know
+everything to see if aught can justify him.”
+
+“It happened after this manner,” began the youth complying with the
+request with visible reluctance. “After the encounter with the rebels
+the other day when they were retiring from us under a hot fire, what
+does this fellow do all at once but dash from among them and come toward
+us, crying: ‘I’m going to cast in my lot with you fellows.’
+
+“This seemed to incense his comrades greatly. They ceased to fire at us
+and turned their muskets against him. ’Twas marvelous that he escaped
+unhurt, but he did, and was received with cheers and shouts of
+admiration by our troops. Odds life!” ejaculated the youth with grudging
+approval, “he hath pluck enough when it comes to that, but I like not a
+turncoat. ’Tis said that my Lord Cornwallis is much taken with him, and
+hath declared that he would like a regiment like him. Pray heaven that
+he doth not repent it. I never liked him, you remember, and still less
+do I regard him now. I shall keep an eye on him.”
+
+“I thank thee for telling me about it, Clifford,” said Peggy. “I think I
+will go to my room. I—I am tired.”
+
+Seeing that the girl was losing command of herself her cousins permitted
+her to leave them without further word, and at last Peggy could give way
+to the sorrow that was overwhelming her.
+
+The sun shone as brightly as of yore; the birds sang sweetly in the tree
+tops, and flowers blossomed in the meadows; all the world of Nature went
+on as before. For no act of man affects the immutable laws of the
+universe, and with indifference to woe, or grief, or breach of trust
+they fulfil their predestined designs though everything that makes life
+dear may be slipping from one’s grasp. Peggy was wondering dully at this
+one morning, a few days later, as she went down to breakfast.
+
+“Peggy,” exclaimed Harriet startled by the girl’s haggard looks, “you
+will make yourself ill by so much grieving. I doubt that ’tis best for
+you to keep your room as you do. Remember how you made me shake off the
+megrims by exertion in Philadelphia? Well, I shall play the physician
+now, and make you bestir yourself. She should, shouldn’t she, father?”
+
+Colonel Owen looked up from his place at the head of the table and
+regarded the maiden disapprovingly.
+
+“Peggy is a foolish little girl,” he remarked with some sharpness.
+“Captain Drayton hath returned to his true allegiance, and I see no
+reason why such a show of grief should be deemed necessary. ’Tis not
+only unseemly, but vastly indelicate as well. As for action, not only
+she but all of us will have to move whether we choose or not. The army
+goes on the march again to-morrow.”
+
+“Where, father?” asked Harriet in surprise. “Is ‘t not a sudden
+determination on his lordship’s part?”
+
+“Somewhat. He hath received an express from General Sir Henry Clinton
+which says that all movements of the rebel general indicate a
+determination to attack New York City. Washington hath been joined by
+the French troops, and the activities of the allies denote a settled
+purpose which hath alarmed Sir Henry for the safety of the city.
+Therefore, he desires the earl to send him some troops, which will leave
+his lordship too weak to hold this place. In consequence we are off
+to-morrow for Portsmouth across the James. Zounds!” he burst forth
+grumblingly. “I don’t mind campaigning in seasonable weather, but this
+hot climate makes a move of any sort an exertion not to be undertaken
+save by compulsion.”
+
+“Must we go, father?” pouted Harriet, “Could you not get leave of
+absence, and continue here? We are so comfortable.”
+
+“Stay here to become a prisoner of war, my dear?” questioned her father
+sarcastically. “Methought you were abreast of war news sufficiently to
+know that that boy general of a Frenchman hath kept within a dozen miles
+of us of late. The army will scarcely be out of here before he marches
+in. Egad! but he needs a lesson. His lordship merely laughs when I tell
+him so, and declares that the boy cannot escape him. He will attend to
+him in time. Nay, Harriet; we shall have to go, though I confess to a
+strong disinclination to move.”
+
+The occupation of Williamsburg by the army under Cornwallis lasted nine
+days; that of Portsmouth was little more than thrice that time, for upon
+the engineers reporting that the site was one that could not be
+fortified the British general put his troops aboard such shipping as he
+could gather and transferred them bodily to Yorktown. Here he set the
+army and the negroes who had followed them to laying out lines of
+earthworks, that he might hold the post with the reduced number of
+troops that would be left him after detaching the reinforcements needed
+by Clinton. And now ensued a pause in the daily excitements and
+operations of the Virginia campaign.
+
+Yorktown was not much more than a village. It had been an emporium of
+trade before the Revolution, while Williamsburg was the capital of the
+state. The site of the town was beautiful in the extreme, stretching
+from east to west on the south side of the noble York River, a small
+distance above where the river empties into Chesapeake Bay.
+
+Both Peggy and Harriet rejoiced in the change, and much of their time
+was spent on the high point of land to the east of the village which
+gave outlook upon Chesapeake Bay, gazing at the wide expanse of water.
+Upon several of these occasions Peggy encountered Drayton, but the two
+merely looked at each other without speaking, the girl with eyes full of
+reproach, the youth with an expression that was unfathomable. Harriet
+now began to twit her unmercifully upon her change of attitude toward
+him.
+
+“It is too amusing,” she said one day after one of these chance
+meetings. “You were such friends at Middlebrook, Peggy, and now you will
+not speak to him. All because he hath come to the conclusion that the
+king hath the right of it.”
+
+“I have already told him how I feel anent the matter,” answered Peggy
+with a sigh. “There is no more to be said.”
+
+“Would I had been a mouse to have heard it,” laughed Harriet. “Clifford
+hath not even yet learned to trust him, though father chides him for his
+feeling, and is disposed to make much of the captain. I think my brother
+hath never got over the fear that he may have been in favor with me.
+’Tis all vastly entertaining.”
+
+“Treachery never seems amusing to me,” remarked Peggy quietly.
+
+“I don’t think I should term taking sides with the king treachery,”
+retorted her cousin. “It seems to me that ’tis the other way. You, and
+others with Whiggish notions, are the traitors. ’Tis an unnatural
+rebellion.”
+
+“’Tis idle to speak so, Harriet, and useless to discuss it. We shall
+never agree on the subject, and therefore what purpose is served by
+talking of it?”
+
+“Only this,” rejoined Harriet mischievously, turning to note the effect
+of her words upon her cousin: “we were speaking of Captain Drayton, were
+we not? Well, Peggy, you will have to get over your feeling toward him,
+for father hath invited him to dine with us to-morrow.”
+
+“Oh, Harriet!” gasped Peggy. “Why did he?”
+
+“Because he thinks both you and Clifford need a lesson in politeness.
+Clifford, because of his suspicions, and you because you do not speak to
+him.”
+
+“Oh!” said Peggy in pained tones. “Would that he had not asked him.
+’Twas thoughtless in Cousin William.”
+
+“I think father ought to have the right to ask whom he chooses to his
+own house,” declared Harriet, who was in one of her moods. “He says that
+when one of these misguided rebels realizes his error and strives to
+rectify it we should encourage him, so that others may follow his
+example. I expect rare sport when you meet.”
+
+Peggy said no more, knowing how useless it would be to plead with either
+Colonel Owen or Harriet once either had determined upon any course. So,
+nerving herself for the ordeal, she went down to dinner the next day in
+anything but a happy frame of mind.
+
+To her surprise only Colonel Owen and Harriet were in the drawing-room.
+There was no sign either of Clifford, or of John Drayton.
+
+“Are you disappointed, Peggy?” asked Harriet with some sarcasm, catching
+the girl’s involuntary glance about the apartment. “So are we, and
+father thinks it unpardonable in a guest to keep us waiting so. I always
+said that Captain Drayton lacked manners.”
+
+Before Peggy could reply the door was flung open, and Clifford dashed
+into the room.
+
+“What in the world is the matter?” queried Harriet startled by his
+manner of entrance. “One would think that you had affairs of state to
+communicate that would brook no delay.”
+
+“And so I have,” cried the lad with exultation. “Do not all of you
+remember that I was not taken with that Yankee captain? Did I not say
+from the beginning that he was not to be trusted? I was right, but no
+one would heed me. I knew after the way he boasted the day we met with
+the sword in Hanover that he was an unregenerate rebel, but my
+suspicions were laughed at. I was right, I say.”
+
+“Clifford, what do you mean?” cried his sister. Peggy did not speak, but
+stood waiting his next words with feverish eagerness, her breath coming
+quickly, her eyes dilated, her hands clasped tightly.
+
+“Go on, my son,” spoke Colonel Owen with some impatience. “We all know
+your feelings on the subject. What hath happened to verify such
+suspicions?”
+
+“Just this,” answered he with triumph: “last night the fellow stole out
+and met one of the enemy. In company with another officer I followed
+after him as he stole through the lines. Beyond Wormeley’s Creek the
+meeting took place, and we apprehended him on his return. His spying
+mission is over. He will do no more harm.”
+
+“Clifford!” shrieked Peggy. “What does thee mean?”
+
+“That because he is a spy,” cried Clifford, “he is condemned to die at
+sunrise.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX—“I SHALL NOT SAY GOOD-BYE”
+
+
+            “How beautiful is death when earned by virtue!
+            Who would not sleep with those? What pity is it
+            That we can die but once to save our country.”
+
+                                           —Addison’s Cato.
+
+“He is to die at sunrise.” The announcement came with such suddenness
+that for a moment no one spoke. Peggy stood as though stricken. Colonel
+Owen was the first to recover himself.
+
+“Suppose that you unravel the matter from the beginning,” he suggested.
+“’Twill be the better understood. Do I hear aright that you were the
+means of discovering his duplicity?”
+
+“It was I of a truth,” answered Clifford speaking rapidly. “I never
+trusted him; so, while the rest of you made much of him and received him
+into your confidences, I kept my eyes open. For a long time no act of
+his justified suspicion, and it did seem as though distrust was
+groundless. And then, ’twas just after we entered camp here at Yorktown,
+I came upon him one night in the woods south of the Moore House. He was
+pretty far afield, so I spoke to him sharply. He laughed, and said that
+the heat had made him sleepless, and that he preferred the air to the
+closeness of his quarters. I said no more, but resolved to double my
+watch of him. This I did, and three times have I seen him leave camp
+without permit. Confiding my fears regarding the reason for such
+absences to Lieutenant Bolton we followed him last night, and our
+vigilance was rewarded. Drayton met one of Lafayette’s men, and we were
+close enough to them to hear him repeat the orders issued by Lord
+Cornwallis yesterday to Lieutenant-Colonel Dundas concerning some
+movements which were to take place from Gloucester Point, and also
+impart other important information.
+
+“Fearful lest some untoward incident might contribute to his escape we
+let him return unmolested to the camp before apprehending him. His
+lordship is quite cut up over the matter, and hath commended me publicly
+for my alertness. He hath also,” concluded the youth proudly, “placed
+the prisoner in my entire charge, leaving all proceedings in the affair
+to be arranged by me. There will be no flaw in carrying out the
+sentence, I promise you.”
+
+“And all this time, while I have thought him disloyal, he hath been
+true, true!” cried Peggy brokenly. “Oh, I should have known! I should
+have known!”
+
+“And he is in your charge, Cliff?” asked Harriet. “My, but you are
+coming on! Father will have to look to his laurels.”
+
+“You are o’er young, my son, to have the management of so serious an
+affair,” remarked Colonel Owen gravely. “Lord Cornwallis likes young
+men, and hath favored them upon many occasions when ’twould have been
+better to give preference to older men. However, if you see that his
+confidence is not misplaced we shall all be proud of you.”
+
+“Have no fear, sir,” said Clifford pompously. “I have placed the
+prisoner in a small cottage where there is no possibility of holding
+communication with any one. He is not only well guarded, sir, but I have
+the door locked upon the outside, and I myself carry the key. Even Lord
+Cornwallis could not see him without first coming to me. Oh, I have
+provided well against any miscarriage of justice.”
+
+“Thee must let me see him, Clifford,” spoke Peggy abruptly. “I shall
+never know peace unless I have his forgiveness. Thee will let me see
+him, my cousin?”
+
+“What you ask, Peggy, is utterly impossible,” answered Clifford. “He
+shall not have one privilege. A spy deserves none. ’Twas not my desire
+that the execution should be deferred until morning. There should be no
+delay in such matters. Spies should be dealt with summarily.”
+
+“You forget, son, that doctrine of that sort works both ways,” observed
+his father, smiling at the youth’s important air. “We have spies of our
+own in the enemy’s lines. Too great harshness of dealing will be
+retaliated upon our own men.”
+
+“Clifford,” cried Peggy going to him, and laying her hand upon his arm
+pleadingly, “does thee not remember how he spared thee? He could have
+slain thee when he had thee at his mercy. Thee will not refuse me one
+little hour with him, my cousin.”
+
+“I shall not grant one minute,” returned he sternly. The look which she
+had seen when he refused to greet Harriet until satisfied of her loyalty
+came now to his face. “He shall not have one privilege.”
+
+“’Twould be inhuman not to permit it, Clifford. ’Tis not justice thee
+seeks, but the gratifying of thine own rancor toward him.”
+
+“She is right, my son,” spoke Colonel Owen. “You lay yourself open to
+that very charge. To guard closely against escape is right. To take
+every precaution against the miscarriage of the sentence is duty. But to
+refuse a small privilege is not only against the dictates of humanity,
+but ’tis impolitic as well. The vicissitudes of war are many, and by sad
+fortune you might find yourself in the same condition as this young
+fellow. ’Tis the part of wisdom to grant what one can in such cases.”
+
+“Captain Williams needs no instructions as to his duty, sir,” returned
+Clifford hotly.
+
+Colonel Owen laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“I had forgot,” he said ironically. “I cry you pardon. Captain Williams,
+of course, is conversant with the entire code of civilized warfare. I
+shall say no more.” He arose and left the apartment.
+
+“Clifford, thee must let me see John,” urged Peggy with feverish
+insistence. “A little time is all I ask. It could not matter, nor make
+the least difference in carrying out thy duty. One little hour,
+Clifford!”
+
+“Say no more,” he cried harshly. “I will not permit it.”
+
+“Thee shall, Clifford Owen.” Peggy’s own voice grew hard in the
+intensity of her feeling. “I have never asked favor of thee before, and
+yet thee is indebted to me. Have I not cared for thee in illness? Thee
+has said that thee would try in part to repay what thee owed me. This is
+thy opportunity. When thee was about to die among strangers I came to
+comfort and console thee in thy last hours. Wilt not let him have a like
+consolation? Clifford!” Her voice broke suddenly. “Thee will let me see
+him.”
+
+“No,” he responded inexorably. “Where are you going?” he asked abruptly
+as the girl turned from him with determination written on her
+countenance.
+
+“I am going to Lord Cornwallis,” answered Peggy. “I shall lay this
+matter before him, and show him that ’tis not zeal which animates thee
+in the discharge of thy duty, but private hatred. I make no doubt but
+that he will accord me permission to see John.”
+
+“I make no doubt of it either,” ejaculated the boy savagely. He was well
+enough acquainted with his chief to know that a demand made by so
+winsome a maiden would be granted. “Come back here, Peggy. I’ll let you
+see him. I don’t care to have Lord Cornwallis, or any one else, mixed up
+in our private affairs. But mind! it will only be for one hour.”
+
+“Thank thee, Clifford. ’Tis all I ask,” she said sorrowfully. “When will
+thee take me to him?”
+
+“So long as it has to be, it might as well be now,” he told her sulkily.
+“Are you ready?”
+
+“Yes, Clifford.”
+
+“And the dinner, good people?” broke in Harriet. “Am I not to be
+pleasured by your company?”
+
+“The dinner can wait,” exclaimed her brother shortly. “We’ll get this
+business over with.”
+
+Too intent upon her own feelings to give heed to the dourness of the lad
+Peggy followed him silently as he strode from the house. In all her
+after life she never forgot that walk: the glare of the sun; the soft
+touch of the breeze which came freshly from the sea; the broad expanse
+of the river where it melted into the broader sweep of the bay; the
+frigates and shipping of the British lying in the river below, and above
+all the heaviness of her heart as she followed her cousin to the place
+where John Drayton awaited death.
+
+Eastward of the village, on its extreme outskirts stood a small one
+story house with but one window and a single door. It was quite remote
+from the other dwellings of the town, and the tents of the army lay
+further to the east and south so that it practically stood alone. A
+mulberry tree at some little distance from the house afforded the only
+relief from the blazing August sun to be found in that part of the
+village. Two sentries marched to and fro around the hut, while a guard,
+heavily armed, sat just without the threshold of the door. Clifford
+conducted the girl at once to the entrance. The guard saluted and moved
+aside at his command.
+
+[Illustration: SHE STEPPED INTO THE ROOM]
+
+“You shall have just one hour,” said the youth, unlocking the door. “I
+shall call when ’tis time.”
+
+Peggy could not reply. In a tumult of emotion she stepped into the one
+room of the hut. The air was close and the heat almost intolerable after
+the freshness of the sea breeze outside. Coming from the dazzling glare
+of the sun into the darkened interior she could not see for a moment, so
+stopped just beyond the door, half stifled by the closeness of the
+atmosphere. When the mist cleared from her eyes she saw a small room
+whose only furniture consisted of a pine table and two chairs. Drayton
+was seated with his back toward the entrance, his head resting upon his
+arms, which were outstretched upon the table. The maiden advanced toward
+him timidly.
+
+“John,” she uttered softly.
+
+The youth sprang to his feet with an exclamation of gladness.
+
+“Peggy,” he cried. “Oh, I did not hope for this.”
+
+“I had to see thee,” she cried sobbing. “Oh, John, John! thee was loyal
+all the time, and I doubted thee. All these weeks I doubted thee.”
+
+“’Tis not to be wondered at, Peggy,” he said soothingly, seeing how
+distressed she was. “Appearances were against me. But why should you
+think that General Arnold had aught to do with it? I could not
+understand that.”
+
+“He had asked for thy address, John,” she told him through her tears.
+“And he said that thee would be fighting with him before two months had
+passed. When I saw thee in that uniform I thought at once that he had
+succeeded in wooing thee from thy duty.” In a few words she related all
+that had passed between her and the traitor. “Can thee ever forgive me?”
+she concluded. “And did I hurt thee much, John?”
+
+“It’s all right now, Peggy,” he said with a boyish laugh. “But I would
+rather go through a battle than to face it again.”
+
+“Why didn’t thee tell me, John?”
+
+“For two reasons: First, the redcoats swarmed about us, and ’twould not
+have been safe. Second, you were with your cousins, and I knew that
+Clifford at least would be suspicious of me—particularly so if you were
+not distressed over my desertion. ’Twas best to let you think as you
+did, though I was sorely tempted at times to let you know the truth. I
+thought that you would know, Peggy. I was surprised when you didn’t.” It
+was his only reproach,
+
+Peggy choked.
+
+“I ought to have known, John. I shall never forgive myself that I did
+not know. Was it necessary for thee to come?”
+
+“Some one had to, and the Marquis wished that I should be the one. You
+see, he could not understand why Cornwallis faced about, and made for
+the seaboard. He did not have to retreat, but seemed to have some fixed
+purpose in so doing that our general could not see through. Nor could
+any of us. The Marquis sent for me, and explained the dilemma, saying
+that he needed some one in the British camp who could get him
+trustworthy intelligence on this and other things. The service, he
+pointed out, was full of risk but of inestimable value. I should be
+obliged to be with the enemy for a long time. It might be weeks. If I
+were discovered the consequence would be an ignominious death. Of course
+I came. When there is service, no matter the nature, there are not many
+of us who are not glad to undertake it.”
+
+“But to die?” she gasped.
+
+“I shall not pretend that I don’t mind it, Peggy,” went on the youth
+calmly, but with sadness. “I do. I would have preferred death in the
+field, or some more glorious end. Still, ’tis just as much in the
+service of the country as though I had died in battle. Were it to be
+done again I would not act differently.”
+
+“Thee must not die, John,” she cried in agonized tones. “Is there no
+way? No way?”
+
+“No, Peggy. I would there were. I’d like to live a little longer.
+There’s going to be rare doings on the Chesapeake shortly. Let me
+whisper, Peggy. ’Tis said that walls have ears, and I would not that any
+of this should reach Cornwallis just at present. ’Tis glorious news. The
+Marquis hath word that the French fleet under the Count de Grasse hath
+sailed from the West Indies for this bay. ’Twill bring us
+reinforcements, beside shutting Cornwallis off from his source of
+supplies. His lordship hath not regarded the Marquis seriously as an
+adversary because of his youth, and so is fortifying leisurely while our
+young general hath encompassed him in a trap. He is hemmed in on all
+sides, Peggy.
+
+“Wayne is across the James ready to block him should he try to retreat
+in that direction; the militia of North Carolina are flocking to the
+border to prevent the British commander cutting a way through that state
+should he get past Wayne. The Marquis is in a camp of observation at
+Holt’s Forge on the Pamunkey River ready to swoop down to Williamsburg
+on the arrival of the fleet. General Nelson and the militia of this
+state with Muhlenberg’s forces are watching Gloucester Point. Best of
+all,—lean closer, Peggy,—’tis whispered that Washington himself may come
+to help spring the trap. He hath led Sir Henry into the belief that he
+is about to attack New York, and my Lord Cornwallis feels so secure here
+that he expects to send his chief reinforcements to help in its defense.
+If the French fleet comes, the end of the war comes with it. Ah, Peggy!
+if it comes.”
+
+“Thee must live, John,” cried she excitedly. “Oh, thee must be here if
+all this happens. Help me to think of a way to save thee.”
+
+“I have done naught but think since I was brought here, Peggy. If I
+could get past that guard at the door there would be a chance. But what
+can I do with a locked door? I have no tools, naught with which to open
+it. There is no other entrance save by that door and that window. No;”
+he shook his head decidedly. “’Tis no use to think, Peggy. The end hath
+come.”
+
+“And how shall I bear it?” she cried.
+
+“’Tis for the country, Peggy.” He touched her hand softly. “We must not
+falter if she demands life of us. If we had a dozen lives we would lay
+them all down in her service, wouldn’t we? If I have helped the cause
+ever so little it doth not matter that I die. And you will let the
+Marquis know what hath happened? And General Greene? I am glad you came.
+It hath sweetened these last hours. I’ll forgive Clifford everything for
+permitting it. You are not to grieve, Peggy. If I have been of help to
+the cause in any way it hath all been owing to you. I have in very truth
+been your soldier.”
+
+“Peggy!” came Clifford’s voice from without the door. “Time’s up!”
+
+“Oh, John,” whispered Peggy, white and shaken. “I can’t say good-bye. I
+can’t——”
+
+“Then don’t,” he said gently leading her to the door. “Let us take a
+lesson from our French allies and say, not good-bye—but au revoir.” Then
+with something of his old jauntiness he added: “Wait and see what the
+night will bring; perhaps rescue. Who knows? Go now, Peggy.”
+
+“We were speaking of rescue,” he said smiling slightly as Clifford,
+fuming at Peggy’s delay, entered the room. “I have just said that we
+know not what a night will bring forth, so I shall not say good-bye, but
+au revoir.”
+
+“You will best say good-bye while you can, Sir Captain,” growled
+Clifford. “You will never have another chance. Come, my cousin.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX—WHAT THE NIGHT BROUGHT
+
+
+               “’Tis liberty alone that gives the flower
+               Of fleeting life its luster and perfume,
+               And we are weeds without it.”
+
+                                    —“The Task,” Cowper.
+
+“Who is the relief for to-night?” queried Clifford of the guard as he
+closed and locked the door of the hut.
+
+“Samuels, sir,” responded the soldier saluting.
+
+“Tell him that I shall take charge at midnight,” commanded Clifford. “I
+am going to stand guard myself so as to make sure that naught goes
+amiss.” Then turning to Peggy he added: “I liked not the last remark of
+that captain. It savored too much of mischief.”
+
+But Peggy, knowing that Drayton had uttered it solely for her comfort,
+made no reply. The afternoon was well on toward its close when they
+reached their abode, and the girl went straight to the room which she
+and Harriet occupied in common.
+
+Harriet had just donned a dainty frock of dimity, and was now dusting
+her chestnut ringlets lightly with powder. She glanced at Peggy over her
+shoulder.
+
+“There is to be company for tea, Peggy,” she said. “Two officers. Will
+you come down?”
+
+“No,” answered Peggy sinking into a chair. “I would rather not,
+Harriet.”
+
+“Don’t you want something to eat, Peggy?” she asked after a quick look
+at Peggy’s face. “You have eaten naught since breakfast. Or a cup of
+tea? You will be ill.”
+
+“No, I thank thee, Harriet.” The maiden leaned her head upon her hand
+drearily. The world seemed very dark just then.
+
+“Tell me about it, my cousin,” spoke Harriet abruptly. “’Twill relieve
+you to talk, and I like not to see you sit there so miserable.”
+
+And at this unlooked-for sympathy on Harriet’s part Peggy broke into
+sudden, bitter weeping.
+
+“He is to die,” she cried. “There is no escape, Harriet. Thy brother
+holds the key, and is to stand guard himself lest aught should go amiss.
+He is cruel, cruel. Oh, the night is so short in summer! The sunrise
+comes so soon! Would that it were winter.”
+
+“Now just how would that help you, Peggy?” demanded Harriet staring at
+her. “If one is to die I see not how the season could lessen one pang.
+After all, Peggy, you must admit that John Drayton deserves his fate. He
+is a spy. He knew the risk he ran. The sentence is just. ’Tis the
+recognized procedure in warfare.”
+
+“That doth not make it less hard to bear,” cried Peggy with passion.
+“Grant that ’tis just, grant that ’tis the method of procedure in
+warfare, and yet when its execution falls upon kinsman or friend there
+is not one of us who would not set such method of procedure at naught.
+Why, when thee——” She paused suddenly.
+
+“Yes? Go on, Peggy,” said her cousin easily. “Or shall I finish for you?
+You were about to speak, my cousin, of the time when I was a spy. You
+are thinking that I was perhaps more guilty than John Drayton, insomuch
+as he hath but given out information while I planned the captivation of
+both the governor of the Jerseys and the rebel general. And you are
+thinking, are you not? that you laid yourself under suspicion because of
+a promise to me. And you are thinking, my little cousin, of how you
+stole out like a thief in the night to aid me to make my escape. You are
+thinking of that long night ride, and of all the trials and difficulties
+in which it involved you. You are thinking of these things, are you
+not?”
+
+As the girl began to speak Peggy ceased her weeping, pushed back her
+hair, and presently sat upright regarding her with amazement.
+
+“Yes,” she almost gasped as her cousin paused. “Yes, Harriet; I was in
+very truth thinking of those things.”
+
+“And you are thinking,” continued Harriet placing a jeweled comb in her
+hair, and gazing into the mirror, turning her head from side to side to
+note the effect, “that in spite of all that befell, you took me back to
+Philadelphia with you when I was ill, and cared for me until I was
+restored to health. And you are thinking of what you have done for
+father, and for Clifford. What a set of ingrates you must consider us,
+Peggy.”
+
+“Why does thee say these things to me, Harriet?” demanded Peggy. “How
+did thee know what I was thinking? And yet thee, and thy father, and—and
+Clifford too, sometimes, have been most kind to me of late. Why does
+thee say them?”
+
+“Because I should say them were I placed as you are,” returned her
+cousin calmly. “I think I would shout them from the house-top.”
+
+“To what purpose, my cousin? It would not procure John’s release. All
+that can be done was done when Clifford let me see him.”
+
+“I would not be so sure of that and I were you,” observed Harriet
+quietly.
+
+“Harriet! What does thee mean?” cried Peggy, her breath coming quickly.
+
+“Peggy, I told you once that some time I should do something that would
+repay all your favors, did I not?”
+
+“Yes.” Peggy’s eyes questioned her cousin’s eagerly.
+
+“Well, don’t you think it’s about time that I was fulfilling that
+promise, my cousin? Suppose now, only suppose, that I could effect this
+captain’s escape? Would that please you?”
+
+“Harriet, tell me. Tell me!” Peggy’s arms were about her in a tight
+embrace. “Thee knows, Harriet.”
+
+“Did it want its captain then?” laughed Harriet teasingly. “Oh, Peggy,
+Peggy! what a goose you are! Now sit down, and tell me where John
+Drayton is, and what Clifford said and did. Then I will unravel my
+plan.”
+
+“There are two sentries beside the guard, Harriet,” Peggy concluded
+anxiously, as she related all that had occurred. “They patrol the house,
+meet and pass each other so that each makes a complete round of the hut.
+I see not how thee can do anything.”
+
+“Don’t be so sure, Mistress Peggy,” came from Harriet with such an
+abrupt change of voice that Peggy was startled.
+
+“That sounded just like Clifford,” she said.
+
+“Certainly it did.” Harriet’s eyes were sparkling now. “I can do
+Clifford to the life. I can deceive even father if the light be dim. I
+am going to be Captain Williams to-night, Peggy. Clifford is so
+cock-sure of himself that he grows insufferable. ’Twill be rare sport to
+take him down a peg. Did’st notice how he spoke to father? He needs a
+lesson. And father hath been in service so long that he ought to look up
+to him.”
+
+“But,” objected Peggy with some excitement, “Clifford will be there on
+guard. Then how can thee represent him?”
+
+“He will retire early, as he hath already lost much sleep from watching
+and following after John Drayton. He will sleep until ’tis time to go to
+the watch, and, Peggy, after Clifford hath lost sleep he always sleeps
+heavily. He will ask father to waken him, and father in turn will ask me
+to take note of the time for fear that he might doze. Now I have one of
+my brother’s uniforms which I brought in this afternoon thinking that
+there might be need of it. I shall don it, after slipping the key of the
+hut from Cliff’s pocket. Then, presto! Captain Williams will go to take
+charge of his prisoner. If it be somewhat before midnight ’twill be
+regarded as the natural zeal of a young officer.”
+
+“But I see not——” began Peggy.
+
+“If I am the guard with the key in my possession, what doth hinder the
+door from being opened, my cousin? If I choose to go in to speak to the
+prisoner of what concern is it to any? Is he not in my charge?”
+
+The girl spoke with such an assumption of her brother’s pompous air that
+Peggy laughed tremulously.
+
+“I do believe that thee can do it,” she cried. “Harriet, thee is
+wonderful!”
+
+“Certainly I can do it,” returned Harriet, well pleased with this
+admiration. “I shall go in and speak to the captain; explain that he is
+to come out when I let him know that the sentries have passed. When they
+meet and cross each other there must be a brief time when the front of
+the dwelling hath but the solitary guard. Once out, however, he will
+have to rely upon himself. I can do no more.”
+
+“He would not wish thee to, Harriet,” spoke Peggy quickly. “He told me
+that could he but pass the door and the guard he did not fear but that
+he could escape.”
+
+“If Clifford goes to bed early the thing can be done,” said Harriet
+going to the door. “It all depends upon that. Now, Peggy, I will send
+you up some tea. ’Twill be best for you to remain here; such a
+distressed damsel should remain in seclusion. I will come back after
+tattoo.”
+
+In spite of her cousin’s optimistic words Peggy spent the time before
+her return with much apprehension. It seemed to her that the night was
+more than half gone ere she appeared. In reality it was but ten o’clock.
+
+“Father thought he had better not go to bed at first,” she said her eyes
+glowing like stars. “I persuaded him that he ought not to lose his
+rest—that while with the army he never knew when he might be called upon
+for service which would not admit of repose. Therefore, ’twas the part
+of wisdom to get it while he could, and I would see that he was aroused
+in time to call Clifford. Everything hath gone just as we wished, and
+what we have to do must be done quickly. I must be back in time to
+restore the key to Cliff’s pocket, and then to waken father. Help me to
+undress, Peggy.”
+
+With trembling fingers Peggy unfastened her frock, and soon Harriet
+stood before her arrayed in the uniform of a British officer.
+
+“Captain Williams, at your service, madam,” she said, bowing low, a
+cocked beaver held gallantly over her heart. Peggy was amazed at the
+transformation. Every mannerism of Clifford was reproduced with such
+faithful exactitude that were it not for her wonderful eyes and
+brilliant complexion she could pass easily for her brother.
+
+“I did not know that thee was so like him,” murmured Peggy. “But thine
+eyes, Harriet. Clifford hath never such eyes as thine.”
+
+“’Tis lucky that ’tis dark,” answered Harriet reassuringly. “They will
+not be noticed in the dark. Besides, the guard will be so thankful for
+relief that ’twill be a small matter to him what my eyes are like. Come,
+my cousin.”
+
+With a stride that was in keeping with the character she had assumed
+Harriet went swiftly down-stairs to the lower story of the dwelling
+followed by the trembling Peggy, and soon they were outside in the fresh
+air of the night.
+
+It was dark, as the girl had said. Only the stars kept watch in the sky,
+and objects were but dimly perceivable. The noises of the great camp
+were for the most part stilled. The rows and rows of tents lying
+southward and eastward of the village gleamed white and ghostlike
+through the clear obscurity. The glimmer of the dying embers of many
+camp-fires shone ruddily in the distance, while an occasional sentinel
+could be descried keeping his monotonous vigil. Silently and quickly
+went the two girls toward the hut where Drayton was. Presently Harriet
+stopped under the mulberry tree.
+
+“Wait here,” she whispered. Peggy, in a quick gush of tenderness, threw
+her arms about her.
+
+“If aught should happen to thee,” she murmured apprehensively.
+
+“For shame, Mistress Peggy,” chided Harriet shaking with merriment. “Is
+this thy Quaker teaching? Such conduct is most unseemly. Fie, fie!”
+Unloosening Peggy’s clasp she walked boldly toward the hut.
+
+In an intensity of anxiety and expectation Peggy waited. On the still
+air of the summer night Harriet’s voice sounded sharply incisive as she
+spoke curtly to the guard, and hearing it Peggy knew that had she not
+been in the secret she could not have told it from Clifford’s.
+
+“A bit early, aren’t you, sir?” came the voice of the guard.
+
+“I think not, Samuels,” replied the pseudo Captain Williams in his
+loftiest manner, and with a sly chuckle the guard saluted and walked
+away.
+
+A candle was burning dimly in the hut, and by its feeble rays Peggy
+could discern the outlines of her cousin as she took her place on guard.
+The sentries passed and repassed. Presently Harriet rose, coolly
+unlocked the door and passed inside. Peggy waited breathlessly. After a
+few moments her cousin reappeared, and again assumed the watchful
+position at the door. At length the moment for which they waited came.
+The sentries passed to the side where they crossed on the return rounds.
+Harriet swung open the door, and a form darted quickly out. The intrepid
+maiden closed the door noiselessly, and by the time the sentinel had
+reappeared was sitting stiffly erect, on guard once more.
+
+Soon Peggy felt her hand caught softly.
+
+“John,” she breathed.
+
+“Peggy,” he answered in so low a tone that she could scarcely
+distinguish the words. “How did you manage it? I thought your cousin my
+most implacable enemy.”
+
+“’Twas Harriet,” she told him. “She wears Clifford’s uniform.”
+
+“Harriet!” Drayton’s whisper expressed the most intense astonishment.
+“Harriet!” And even as he spoke the name she stood beside them.
+
+“Come,” she said. They glided after her, pausing only when they had
+reached a safe distance from the hut.
+
+“We must not stop to talk,” said the English girl in peremptory tones.
+“Captain Drayton, you will have to depend upon yourself now.”
+
+“Gladly,” he responded having recovered from his amazement by this time.
+“How can I thank you, Mistress Harriet? I——”
+
+“You owe me no thanks,” she interrupted coldly. “I did it for Peggy. We
+cannot stay longer. We must get back with the key before Clifford wakes.
+Go!”
+
+“Yet none the less do I thank you,” spoke the youth huskily. “’Twould
+have been a shameful death. I thank you both. Good-bye!” He said no
+more, but disappeared into the darkness.
+
+With anxiety the girls returned to the house. All was as quiet as when
+they left. Without incident the key was restored to Clifford’s pocket,
+and, donning her own attire, Harriet went to rouse Colonel Owen. For it
+was near midnight.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI—THE DAWN OF THE MORNING
+
+
+     “What is that which the breeze, o’er the towering steep,
+     As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses?
+     Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam,
+     In full glory reflected now shines on the stream;
+     ’Tis the star-spangled banner; O long may it wave
+     O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!”
+
+                                                —Francis Scott Key.
+
+     “Hurrah! the foes are moving. Hark to the mingled din
+     Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin!
+     Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France,
+     Charge for the golden lilies now—upon them with the lance!”
+
+                                   —“The Battle of Ivry,” Macaulay.
+
+Would the escape be discovered at once? The maidens asked this over and
+over as they crept into bed, and lay listening to every sound with
+feverish expectancy. But the night hours came and went, bringing with
+them no incident that betokened any unusual commotion in the camp. So,
+declaring that naught was to be learned until morning, Harriet dropped
+into slumber. Not so Peggy.
+
+With the first faint streaks of the dawn sounded the bugle and drum beat
+of the reveille, and she arose, dressed, and went down to the small
+portico in front of the house, hoping to hear something which would
+assure her that Drayton had not been retaken.
+
+The sweet coolness of the early morning came restfully after the
+excitement of the night, and under its pleasantness Peggy felt all her
+anxieties fade away, and in their stead there came a deep feeling of
+peace. Over the world the darkness of the night still brooded, but
+lightly like a thin curtain whose filmy meshes were even now dissolving
+under the growing brightness. All the stars save the morning one had
+been extinguished by the gray dawn, and this first messenger of the day
+still hung tremblingly in the east, a prophet sign of the light and
+glory to follow. From the distance came the noises of the great camp,
+and from a neighboring bush sounded the melody of a mocking-bird. The
+world was sweet and fair, and life, in spite of dark moments, was well
+worth while. Peggy had reached this point in her musings when the voice
+of Colonel Owen startled her:
+
+“You are up early, my little cousin. I feared that you would not sleep.”
+
+There was an unwonted note of solicitude in his tones, and it came to
+the girl with something of a shock that he was thinking of the execution
+which was to have taken place at this hour. She opened her lips eagerly
+to reply, and then there came the thought that not yet could she declare
+her thankfulness until the escape had become known.
+
+“Sometimes,” continued the colonel coming from the door to her side,
+“sometimes, Peggy, ’tis wise to move about in sorrow. Action distracts
+the mind, and anything that draws the thoughts from grief is of benefit.
+Come, my little cousin! let’s you and I go to see the sun rise over the
+river. ’Tis said to be wondrously beautiful. Will you come?”
+
+“Yes,” answered she gently, touched by his thought of her.
+
+“We shall have just time to reach the point,” he said leading the way to
+the gate, “but there will be need for haste.”
+
+The main street of the village faced the river, and this they followed
+eastward. The way led by the hut where Drayton had been confined, and
+Peggy glanced quickly at it. It was closed and apparently deserted, with
+no sign of sentinel, or guard. She gave a sigh of relief. William Owen’s
+brow contracted in a frown.
+
+“Peggy, I did not think,” he exclaimed with contrition. “I forgot that
+we should pass by the place.”
+
+“It doth not matter,” she returned so cheerfully that his face
+brightened. “Shall we go on, Cousin William?”
+
+The walk took them through rows and rows of tents where the soldiers
+were busily engaged in preparing breakfast, and on to a high point of
+land far to the east of the village facing Chesapeake Bay.
+
+The shadows still lay darkly under trees and shrubs. The distant woods
+were veiled and still, but already in the east a faint rose bloom was
+creeping. Below them was the river and on its broad bosom floated the
+British ships. The soft murmur of the waves as they caressed the shore
+came ripplingly with musical rhythm. The color of the sky deepened and
+grew to deepest crimson, and water, tents, woods and fields bloomed and
+blushed under the roseate effulgence. Great shafts of golden light
+flamed suddenly athwart the rosy clouds. The green of the woods, and the
+purple mists of the horizon became gradually discernible. The waters
+were tinged with rainbow hues. As the crimson, and purple, and gold of
+the river mingled with the gold, and purple, and crimson of the bay the
+sun rose majestically from a sea of amber cloud. A wonderful blaze of
+glory streamed over river and bay. Suddenly from around a bend to the
+southward, as though they were part of the picture, three ships sailed
+into the midst of the enchanting spectacle. Three ships, full rigged,
+towering pyramids of sails, which moved with graceful dignity across the
+broad expanse of glorified water, and came to rest like snowy sea-gulls
+near the Gloucester shore.
+
+“The French fleet,” burst from Peggy’s lips involuntarily.
+
+“The French fleet! Nonsense! Girl, why do you say that?” exclaimed her
+cousin. “What reason have you for thinking them so? No, they are the
+ships that Sir Henry was to send as convoy to the transports. We have
+expected them.” He regarded the vessels keenly for a time, and all at
+once an uneasy expression crossed his face.
+
+“Why do they not answer the signals of the ‘Charon’?” he muttered. “See!
+They do not respond, yet our ship signals. Odds life, my cousin! I
+believe that you are right.”
+
+Peggy began to tremble as Drayton’s words came to her.
+
+“If the French fleet comes, the end of the war comes with it.” Could it
+be? Was it in very truth the beginning of the end?
+
+That for which the people prayed had come at last; for it was indeed the
+French fleet, and with its coming came the dawn of victory. The sun of
+Liberty was brightening into the full day of Freedom when, her last
+fetter thrown aside, America should take her place among the nations.
+
+“There is a fourth vessel coming,” remarked Colonel Owen presently. “A
+frigate this time. The others were ships of the line. We must go back,
+Peggy. My Lord Cornwallis should know of this arrival.”
+
+With a great hope filling her heart Peggy followed him silently back to
+the dwelling. He left her at the door, and hastened to the house of
+Secretary Nelson, where the earl had his headquarters. Harriet was
+already at the breakfast table.
+
+“Where have you been, Peggy?” she asked. “Here I have searched all
+through the house but could find no one. I was beginning to regard
+myself as a deserted damsel. Were you seeking further adventures?”
+
+“No, Harriet,” Peggy laughed lightly. “I went with thy father to see the
+sun rise over the river. ’Twas a beautiful sight. Thee must see it. Four
+ships came while we were there and Cousin William hath gone to inform
+Lord Cornwallis of the fact.”
+
+“The English fleet, I make no doubt,” remarked Harriet carelessly. “I
+think it hath been expected. Did’st see anything of Clifford?”
+
+“No.” A perplexed look shadowed Peggy’s face. “Nor did I hear a word
+anent the escape, Harriet. The hut was closed, and there was no sentry
+about it. ’Tis strange that we have heard naught regarding the matter.
+Would that Clifford would come.”
+
+As though in answer to her wish Clifford himself at this moment appeared
+at the door. He was haggard and pale, and he sank into a chair as though
+utterly weary.
+
+“You are worn out, Clifford,” exclaimed Harriet with some anxiety. “Have
+a cup of tea. You take your military duties far too seriously, I fear
+me.”
+
+“Yes, I will take the tea, Harriet,” said the youth drearily. “Make it
+strong, my sister. Everything hath gone awry. That Yankee captain
+escaped.”
+
+“Escaped?” Harriet brought him the tea, which he quaffed eagerly. “Tell
+us about it, Clifford. How did it happen?”
+
+“I can’t understand it,” he said dejectedly. “’Tis more like magic than
+aught else. When I got to the hut last night the sentries were there on
+duty, but there was no guard. I asked where Samuels was, and was
+astonished when they declared that I myself had sent him away an hour
+before. Suspecting something wrong at this I went at once inside the
+hut, and found it empty. The door was locked, the key in my possession
+all the time, but Drayton was gone. As near as I can get at it some one
+impersonated me, and released him. But how came any one by a key? There
+was a plot on foot yesterday for his rescue. His parting remark to you,
+Peggy, seemed to indicate that he expected something to happen, but I
+thought that I had taken every precaution.”
+
+“Then he did escape, Clifford?” questioned Peggy eagerly.
+
+“Yes,” answered the lad with bitterness. “He escaped. I do not expect
+you to be sorry, Peggy, but I would almost rather have died than to have
+it happen while he was in my charge. ’Tis a dire misfortune.”
+
+“But not of such gravity as another that hath befallen us, my son,” said
+Colonel Owen coming into the room in time to hear the last remark. “The
+French fleet hath entered the Chesapeake, and now lies at anchor off the
+Gloucester shore. Peggy recognized it at once, though I see not how she
+knew. His lordship hath despatched a courier to find if there are others
+lower down the bay.”
+
+“Why should the coming of the French fleet be of such consequence?”
+queried Harriet.
+
+“It shuts off our communication with New York, which means that we can
+receive neither supplies nor reinforcements from Sir Henry Clinton. If
+our fleet doth not come to our assistance we may find ourselves in a
+desperate situation.”
+
+“There is no cause for worry, sir,” spoke Clifford. “If we are cut off
+on the water side, what doth hinder us from retreating through North
+Carolina to our forces further South?”
+
+“Thee can’t,” uttered Peggy breathlessly. “I am sorry for thee, Cousin
+William, and for thy army. Still I am glad that at last the long war may
+be brought to a close.”
+
+“Peggy, just what do you mean?” demanded Colonel Owen sharply.
+
+“I was considering our own forces,” answered Peggy who had spoken
+without thinking. “Would not the Marquis, and General Wayne, and all the
+militia try to keep thy people from cutting through?”
+
+“‘Fore George, they would!” ejaculated the colonel. “At least they
+should try. By all the laws of military warfare they should have us
+surrounded, and if that be the case we are in for a siege. Come, Peggy,
+you are improving. We shall have a warrior of you yet.”
+
+“Don’t, Cousin William,” cried Peggy. “’Tis not my wisdom at all. I but
+repeat what I have heard.”
+
+“’Tis sound policy, wherever you may have heard it,” declared Colonel
+Owen. “Though I hope for our sakes that the rebels may not enforce it.
+Come, my son. We have no time for further loitering.”
+
+Roused from his dream of security at last Cornwallis, as had been
+foreseen, meditated a retreat through the Carolinas. It was too late.
+The James River was filled with armed vessels covering the transfer of
+French troops which had been brought to the assistance of Lafayette. He
+reconnoitered Williamsburg, but found it was too strong to be forced.
+Cut off in every direction, he now proceeded to strengthen his defenses,
+sending repeated expresses to Sir Henry Clinton to apprise him of his
+desperate situation.
+
+The days that ensued were days of anxiety. All sorts of rumors were
+afloat in the encircled garrison. One stood forth from among the rest
+and was repeated insistently until at length it crystallized into
+verity: Washington himself was coming with his army and the allies.
+Colonel Owen’s face was grave indeed as he confirmed the tidings.
+
+“I cannot understand how the rebel general could slip away from the
+Hudson with a whole army right under Sir Henry’s nose,” he complained.
+“I know that the commander-in-chief expected an attack, and was
+preparing for it; for that very reason he should have been more keenly
+upon the alert. Where were his scouts, his spies, that he did not know
+what his adversary was doing? Had he no secret service? He grows
+sluggish, I fear me.”
+
+The situation brightened for Cornwallis when part of the English fleet
+under Admiral Graves took a peep in at the Chesapeake, but only a slight
+action with the French vessels followed, and then the English ships
+sailed away to New York. Once more the black cloud lowered, and soon it
+burst in all its fury over the doomed army. On the twenty-eighth of
+September the videttes came flying in to report that the combined army
+of Americans and French were advancing in force. Seeing himself
+outflanked the British commander withdrew into the town and the inner
+line of defenses, and began a furious cannonading to prevent the advance
+of the allies. And now from Sir Henry came the cheering intelligence
+that the British fleet would soon come to his relief.
+
+Colonel Owen and Clifford were on duty almost constantly, and the two
+girls were much alone. The servants left precipitately, and the maidens
+gladly undertook the housework as a relief from anxiety. Soon the
+firewood gave out, and they were reduced to the necessity of living on
+uncooked food. Encompassed on every side there was no opportunity for
+foraging, and the supplies of the garrison depleted rapidly. But
+meagerness of rations could be borne better than sound of cannon,
+although there was as yet no bombardment from the Americans—a state of
+affairs, however, that did not last long.
+
+On the afternoon of the eighth of October Peggy and Harriet sat on the
+small portico of the dwelling listening to the cannonading which had
+been going on all day from the British works.
+
+“Harriet,” spoke Peggy abruptly, “does thee remember that father is
+outside there with the army?”
+
+“Oh, Peggy,” gasped her cousin. “How dreadful! Suppose that father, or
+Clifford, should hurt him? Wouldn’t it be awful?”
+
+“Yes,” assented Peggy paling. “Or if he should hurt them.”
+
+“There is not so much danger of that,” said Harriet. “Clifford said that
+while they seemed to be throwing up earthworks there had been no big
+guns mounted, and he did not believe that the rebels had many. ’Twould
+be a great task to transport heavy ordnance from the Hudson.”
+
+“But they have had the assistance of the French fleet,” reminded Peggy.
+“Thee should know by this time, Harriet, that if General Washington
+undertakes aught, he does it thoroughly. I fear we shall find soon that
+he hath brought all his artillery.”
+
+As if to confirm her words there came at this moment a deafening crash,
+a tearing, screeching sound, as a solid shot tore through the upper
+story of the house. The two maidens sprang to their feet, clasping each
+other in terror. Long after Peggy learned that it was Washington himself
+who had fired the shot. Instantly the roar of cannon and mortars
+followed. The earth trembled under the thunder. The air was filled with
+shot and shell, and roar of artillery. The bombardment of the town had
+begun, and Earl Cornwallis had received his first salutation.
+
+In the midst of the commotion Clifford came running.
+
+“Get to the caves,” he shouted. “Ye must not stay here.”
+
+Panic-stricken, the girls hastened after him to the bluff over the river
+in the side of which caves had been dug in anticipation of this very
+event.
+
+“You should not be here, Peggy,” said the youth when they had reached
+the protection of the dugout. “If you wish I will try to get a flag to
+send you outside. ’Tis no place for a rebel.” This last he spoke with
+some bitterness.
+
+“And leave me alone, Peggy?” cried Harriet in dismay. “Oh, you would
+not!”
+
+“No, Harriet,” answered Peggy who in truth would have preferred almost
+any place to Yorktown at that moment. “I will not leave thee if thee
+wishes me to stay.”
+
+“Then ye must go over to Gloucester Point,” cried the lad. “’Tis said
+that all the women and children are to be sent there.”
+
+“No,” said Harriet decidedly. “We will stay right here. We will be safe,
+and I will not leave you and father. Why, you both might be killed, or
+wounded.”
+
+And from this stand neither Clifford nor her father could move her. The
+time that followed was one to try the stoutest heart. The houses of the
+village were honeycombed by shot. Scenes of horror were enacted which
+passed all description. Shot and shell rained without cessation day and
+night. Horses, for lack of forage, were slain by hundreds, and the girls
+had no means of finding out if their own pets were included in the
+slaughter. The shrieks and groans of the wounded mingled with the roar
+of artillery, and added to the awfulness. And nearer, ever nearer,
+approached the allies. The first parallel[[7]] of the Americans was
+opened and passed.
+
+From the outlying redoubts the British were forced backward, and the
+second parallel opened. The situation was becoming desperate. The
+defenses were crumbling under the heavy, unceasing fire. Abattis, and
+parapet, and ditch were splintered, and torn, and leveled. The garrison
+was losing many men, and closer still came the patriots. The end was
+fast approaching. The Hector of the British army was opposed by a leader
+who never left anything to chance.
+
+And in the caves there was no occupation to relieve the tension, save
+that of watching the shells. Peggy and Harriet stood at the entrance of
+their dugout on the evening of the eleventh of October engaged in this
+diversion. Sometimes the shells of the besieging army overreached the
+town and fell beyond the bluff into the river, and bursting, threw up
+great columns of water. In the darkness the bombs appeared like fiery
+meteors with blazing tails. Suddenly from out of the clouds of smoke and
+night a red-hot shell soared, curved, and fell upon the “Charon,” the
+British ship lying in the river. Almost instantly the vessel was
+enwrapped in a torrent of fire which spread with vivid brightness among
+the rigging, and ran with amazing rapidity to the top of the masts. From
+water edge to truck the vessel was in flames. The “Guadalupe,” lying
+near by, together with two other smaller ships, caught fire also, and
+all the river blazed in a magnificent conflagration. About and above
+them was fire and smoke, while cannon belched thunder and flame.
+
+“Oh, this awful war! This awful war!” shrieked Harriet suddenly. “I
+shall go mad, Peggy.”
+
+Peggy drew her back within the cave. “Let us not look longer, Harriet,”
+she said soothing the girl as she would a child. “I hope, I believe that
+it will not last. How can it go on? Oh, Harriet, Harriet! we could bear
+anything if it were quiet for only a little while.”
+
+“At first,” sobbed Harriet, “I thought I could not bear for the British
+to be beaten; but now if only father and Clifford are spared, I care
+not.”
+
+It was near the end now. After a gallant sortie by which the English
+regained a redoubt from the French only to lose it again, and after an
+attempt to cut through on the Gloucester side of the river Cornwallis
+gave way to despair. On the morning of the seventeenth Clifford came to
+the cave. He was haggard, disheveled, and grimy with powder. Tears were
+streaming from his eyes, and his appearance was so woebegone that the
+maidens ran to him with cries of alarm.
+
+“Harriet,” he cried, flinging himself on the ground with a sob, “it’s
+all over! They are beating the parley.”
+
+-----
+[7] Parallel—a line of entrenchments parallel to those of the British.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII—“LIGHTS OUT”
+
+
+          “Oh! these were hours when thrilling joy repaid
+          A long, long course of darkness, doubts, and fears—
+          The heartsick faintness of the hope delay’d,
+          The waste, the woe, the bloodshed, and the tears,
+          That tracked with terror six long rolling years.”
+
+                                 —“Lord of the Isles,” Scott.
+
+As the youth spoke the cannonading which for ten long days of thunderous
+bombardment had raged incessantly suddenly ceased, giving place to a
+stillness painful in its intensity.
+
+“What doth that mean?” exclaimed Harriet.
+
+“It means a cessation of hostilities,” explained Clifford huskily. “It
+means that old Britain is beaten. Oh! if I were Cornwallis, I’d fight
+until there was not a man left. I’d never yield.”
+
+“Blame him not, Clifford,” said Harriet. “He hath made a brave defense.
+For my part, I am thankful that ’tis over. Have you seen father?”
+
+“No,” answered the youth. “Not since yesterday.”
+
+“Then let us find him,” suggested she. “’Twill be a relief to get out of
+this cave. Come, Peggy!”
+
+And nothing loth Peggy followed her. The village was utterly wrecked. On
+every side were mute tokens of the fury of the siege. The houses were
+completely dismantled; in many instances literally riddled by shot. The
+streets had been torn into great holes and ploughed into deep furrows by
+the burrowing of shells. There were sights of horror everywhere, and the
+girls grew faint and sick as they hastened with averted eyes to their
+former dwelling, which was found to be less dilapidated than many of the
+others. Clifford went in search of his father, and soon returned with
+him. Colonel Owen was as gloomy as his son over the prospect of
+surrender. He frowned at sight of Peggy.
+
+“I suppose that you are rejoicing over our defeat, my little cousin,” he
+exclaimed harshly.
+
+“I am glad indeed that the cause hath succeeded, my cousin,” answered
+the girl frankly. “We have fought so long that ’tis matter for rejoicing
+when at length the victory is ours. Yet,” she added meeting his look
+with one of compassion, “I am sorry for thee, too. I grieve to see
+either a proud nation or a proud man humbled.”
+
+“And is it indeed over, as Clifford says, father?” questioned Harriet.
+
+“Yes,” he told her, his whole manner expressive of the deepest chagrin.
+“Washington hath consented to a cessation of hostilities for two hours,
+but there is no doubt as to the outcome. Our works are shattered, and
+the ammunition almost exhausted. There is naught else to do but
+surrender, but ’tis a bitter dose to swallow.”
+
+He covered his face with his hands and groaned. Clifford turned upon
+Peggy with something of irritation.
+
+“Why don’t you say what you are thinking?” he cried. “Say that you are
+glad, but don’t for pity sake look sorry for us!”
+
+“I am not thinking of thee at all,” returned Peggy wistfully, “but of
+father. Neither thee nor thy father is hurt, but what of my father?”
+
+“And do you wish to go to him?”
+
+“Yes,” she uttered eagerly.
+
+“It can be arranged,” he said. “I will see to a flag.” As he started to
+leave them William Owen looked up.
+
+“Include Harriet in that too, my son,” he said. “This will be a sad
+place for her until after the manner of capitulation hath been
+arranged.”
+
+“I shall not go, father,” interposed the maiden raising her head
+proudly. “An English girl hath no place among victorious foes. Send
+Peggy and you will, but I shall not leave you in your humiliation.”
+
+“So be it,” he said.
+
+Thus it came about that Peggy found herself outside the British works,
+advancing toward the American lines under a flag. Less than three
+hundred yards from the shattered works of the British the second
+parallel of the patriots extended, and in front of it were the batteries
+which had raked the town with such destructive fire. Midway of this
+distance they beheld the solitary figure of a man approaching, also
+bearing a flag. At sight of him Peggy forgot her escort, forgot
+everything, and ran forward uttering a cry of gladness.
+
+“Father, father!” she screamed.
+
+“My little lass!” David Owen clasped her in a close embrace. “I was
+coming in search of thee. I have been wild with anxiety concerning thee
+since I learned that thou wert in the town. It hath been a fearful time!
+Had not our cause been just I could not have borne it. There is much to
+tell and hear, lass. Let us seek a place more retired.”
+
+The batteries of the patriots, the redoubts taken from the enemy, and
+the parallel, were connected by a covert way and angling works, all
+mantled by more than a hundred pieces of cannon and mortars. David Owen
+hurried his daughter past these quickly, for the girl paled at sight of
+the dreadful engines of war whose fearful thundering had wrought such
+havoc and destruction. Presently they found themselves somewhat apart
+from the movements of the army, and Peggy poured forth all her woes.
+There was indeed much to relate. She had not seen her father for three
+long years, and in his presence she felt as though there could no longer
+be trouble.
+
+“And after they had been so kind of late,” concluded Peggy in speaking
+of their cousins, “they seemed just to-day as though they did not wish
+me with them. Even Harriet, who hath been clamorous for me to remain
+with her, seemed so.”
+
+“Mind it not, lass,” said he consolingly. “’Tis because they did not
+wish a witness to their humiliation. After the first brunt of feeling
+hath worn away I make no doubt but that their manner will be better even
+than before. Ah! yonder is Captain Drayton. The boy hath been well-nigh
+crazed at thy peril. I will call him.”
+
+The rest of the day and the next also flags passed and repassed between
+the lines, and on the afternoon of the latter commissioners met at the
+Moore House to draw up articles of capitulation. These were acceded to
+and signed. The British received the same terms which they had imposed
+upon the Americans at Charlestown. Nothing now remained but the
+observance of the formal surrender, which was set for the next day.
+
+The nineteenth of October dawned gloriously. About noon the combined
+armies marched to their positions in the large field lying south of the
+town, and were drawn up in two lines about a mile long, on the right and
+left of a road running from the village. On the right of the road were
+the American troops; on the left those of the French. A large concourse
+of people had gathered from all the countryside to see the spectacle.
+Every countenance glowed with satisfaction and joy. The long struggle
+was virtually ended. It had been a contest not for power, not for
+aggrandizement, but for a great principle.
+
+To Peggy’s joy it was found that her little mare had not been killed,
+and so, mounted on Star, she was permitted to view the pageant by her
+father’s side.
+
+The French troops presented a most brilliant spectacle in white uniforms
+with colored trimmings, and with plumed and decorated officers at their
+head. Along the line floated their banners of white silk embroidered
+with the golden lilies. They were gallant allies in gallant array. Their
+gorgeous standards caught the glint of the sun and glittered and
+sparkled in its rays. But the girl turned to view the less attractive
+Americans.
+
+There was variety of dress, poor at best. The French gentlemen laughed
+at the lack of uniform, but respected the fighting abilities of the men
+so clad. But if many wore but linen overalls there was a soldierly
+bearing that commanded attention. These men were conquerors. Their very
+appearance bespoke the hardships and privations they had undergone to
+win in the struggle. Over their heads there fluttered the starry banner
+which through their exertions had earned its right to live. Through
+these men a nation had been born into the world. The golden lilies were
+soon to wither; the red, white and blue of America was to be taken later
+by France in their stead.
+
+At two o’clock the captive army filed out of the garrison. “Let there be
+no cheering,” had been the order from Washington. “They have made a
+brave defense.” And so the march was made between silent ranks of
+conquerors, the music being the then well-known air of “The World Turned
+Upside Down.” The tune probably expressed very accurately the feelings
+of the men who were to lay down their arms that autumn afternoon. Their
+world had indeed been turned upside down when they were prisoners of the
+men whom they had affected to despise. Each soldier had been given a new
+uniform by Cornwallis, and the army marched quietly and with precision
+to the field where they were to lay down their arms. But if there was
+quietness there was sullenness also. The pride and spirit of Britain
+were put to a severe test, and many could scarcely conceal their
+mortification as they marched with cased colors, an indignity that had
+been inflicted upon the garrison at Charlestown.
+
+As they came forth every eye sought, not the plumed leader of the
+French, but the plainly attired gentleman who sat upon a noble charger,
+and viewed their coming with an inscrutable countenance. This was the
+man but for whom they would have been victorious—that noble and gracious
+figure which signified to all the world that the American Revolution had
+ended in complete victory, the Virginia planter, whom they had despised
+at the beginning of the conflict. They regarded him now with something
+nearly approaching awe—the leader who had encountered trials and
+obstacles such as no general had ever before been called upon to face.
+The trials had been overcome and endured; the obstacles surmounted, and
+the country carried on to victory in spite of itself.
+
+Earl Cornwallis pleaded indisposition, and sent the soldiers who
+worshipped him out to stand their humiliation without him. It was
+General O’Hara who tendered his sword to General Washington who, with
+dignity, motioned that it should be given to General Lincoln, who had
+been in command at Charlestown when that place surrendered to the
+British.
+
+It was over at last, and the stars and stripes floated from the redoubts
+at Yorktown. The officers were released on parole, and the men were to
+be held prisoners in the states of Virginia and Maryland.
+
+“And now what shall be done with thee, lass?” queried David Owen of
+Peggy.
+
+“Let us go home, father,” cried Peggy. “I am so tired of war and its
+surroundings. Can thee not get a leave?”
+
+“Yes,” he said. “To-morrow we will start for home.”
+
+“For home and mother,” cried Peggy joyfully.
+
+
+
+
+                    The Stories in this Series are:
+
+                    PEGGY OWEN
+                    PEGGY OWEN, PATRIOT
+                    PEGGY OWEN AT YORKTOWN
+                    PEGGY OWEN AND LIBERTY
+
+
+
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+LUCY FOSTER MADISON
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Mrs. Madison’s stories for girls are:
+
+Peggy Owen
+  Peggy Owen, Patriot
+  Peggy Owen at Yorktown
+  Peggy Owen and Liberty
+  A Colonial Maid of Old Virginia
+  A Daughter of the Union
+  In Doublet and Hose
+  A Maid of King Alfred’s Court
+  A Maid of the First Century
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Peggy Owen at Yorktown, by Lucy Foster Madison
+
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