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diff --git a/36744-0.txt b/36744-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f86b7f3 --- /dev/null +++ b/36744-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8765 @@ +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 + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PEGGY OWEN AT YORKTOWN *** + +***** This file should be named 36744-0.txt or 36744-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/7/4/36744/ + +Produced by Roger Frank, Juliet Sutherland and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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