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<meta content="Peggy Owen at Yorktown" name="DC.Title"/>
<meta content="Lucy Foster Madison" name="DC.Creator"/>
<meta content="en" name="DC.Language"/>
<meta content="1911" name="DC.Created"/>
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<title>Peggy Owen at Yorktown</title>
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<pre>
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
</pre>
<div><a name='illusfpc' id='illusfpc'></a></div>
<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<a name='i001' id='i001'></a>
<img src="images/illus001.jpg" alt="“DID THEE PUT THY NAME ON IT?”" title=""/><br />
<span class='caption'>“DID THEE PUT THY NAME ON IT?”</span>
</div>
<p>
 <br />
 <br />
 <br />
</p>
<div class='center'>
<p style='font-size:1.4em;font-weight:bold;'>PEGGY OWEN</p>
<p style='font-size:1.4em;font-weight:bold;'>AT YORKTOWN</p>
<p> </p>
<p style='font-size:smaller;'>BY</p>
<p> </p>
<p style='font-size:larger;'>Lucy Foster Madison</p>
<p> </p>
<p style='font-size:smaller;'>Author of</p>
<p> </p>
<p style='font-size:smaller;'>“Peggy Owen”</p>
<p style='font-size:smaller;'>“Peggy Owen Patriot”</p>
<p style='font-size:smaller;'>“Peggy Owen and Liberty”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Illustrated by H. J. Peck</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Penn Publishing Company</p>
<p style='font-size:smaller;'>PHILADELPHIA MCMXVII</p>
</div>
<p>
 <br />
 <br />
 <br />
</p>
<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<a name='i002' id='i002'></a>
<img src='images/illus004.jpg' alt='' title=''/><br />
</div>
<p>
 <br />
 <br />
 <br />
</p>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“Oh, who can gaze upon the relics here,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>And not their sacred memories revere?</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Who can behold the figures of our sires,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>And not be touched with Freedom’s hallowed fires?”</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
 <br />
 <br />
 <br />
</p>
<div class='center'>
<p style='font-size:larger;'>Introduction</p>
</div>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
 <br />
 <br />
 <br />
</p>
<div class='center'>
<p><span style='font-size:larger;'>Contents</span></p>
</div>
<table class='c' summary='table of contents'>
<tr><td style='font-size:smaller'>CHAPTER</td><td></td><td style='font-size:smaller'>PAGE</td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>I.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Loyal Subject of His Majesty, George Third, Makes a Shirt</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chI'>11</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>II.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Harriet Makes a Present</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chII'>25</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>III.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Glimpse of Clifford</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chIII'>38</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>IV.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Strange Presentiment</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chIV'>52</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>V.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Day of Note</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chV'>60</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>VI.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Message of Indignation</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chVI'>73</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>VII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Harriet Takes Matters in Hand</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chVII'>90</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>VIII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Hospitality Betrayed</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chVIII'>103</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>IX.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Dictates of Humanity</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chIX'>115</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>X.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Farewell to Home</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chX'>127</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XI.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>On the Road</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXI'>139</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Home of Washington</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXII'>149</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XIII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Appearance of the Enemy</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXIII'>164</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XIV.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Journey’s End</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXIV'>174</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XV.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Peggy is Troubled</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXV'>186</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XVI.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Tables Turned</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXVI'>200</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XVII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>An Unwelcome Encounter</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXVII'>211</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XVIII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Under the Lindens</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXVIII'>220</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XIX.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Harriet at Last</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXIX'>234</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XX.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Vindicated</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXX'>244</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXI.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Rash Resolve</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXI'>254</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>For Love of Country</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXII'>266</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXIII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Question of Courage</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXIII'>280</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXIV.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>An Unexpected Encounter</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXIV'>289</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXV.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Her Nearest Relative</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXV'>301</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXVI.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Tide-Water Again</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXVI'>310</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXVII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Peggy Receives a Shock</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXVII'>321</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXVIII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Verified Suspicions</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXVIII'>333</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXIX.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>“I Shall Not Say Good-bye”</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXIX'>347</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXX.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>What the Night Brought</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXX'>362</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXXI.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Dawn of the Morning</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXXI'>376</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:right; padding-right:1em;'>XXXII.</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:3em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>“Lights Out”</span></td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#chXXXII'>395</a></td></tr>
</table>
<p>
 <br />
 <br />
 <br />
</p>
<div class='center'>
<p><span style='font-size:larger;'>Illustrations</span></p>
</div>
<table class='c' summary='loi'>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:1em;'>“Did Thee Put Thy Name On It?”</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#i001'>Frontispiece</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:1em;'>“Thee Must be John Paul Jones”</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#i003'>70</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:1em;'>“I Have Heard Nothing”</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#i004'>119</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:1em;'>“Why Have You Come?”</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#i005'>183</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:1em;'>“Benedict Arnold Forces His Presence Upon No One”</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#i006'>216</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:1em;'>“Draw and Defend Yourself!”</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#i007'>298</a></td></tr>
<tr><td valign='top' style='text-align:left; padding-right:1em;'>She Stepped Into the Room</td><td valign='top' style='text-align:right;'><a href='#i008'>355</a></td></tr>
</table>
<p>
 <br />
 <br />
 <br />
</p>
<h1><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11'></a>11</span>Peggy Owen at Yorktown</h1>
<h2><a name='chI' id='chI'></a>CHAPTER I—A LOYAL SUBJECT OF HIS MAJESTY, GEORGE THIRD, MAKES A SHIRT</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“Alone by the Schuylkill a wanderer roved,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  And bright were its flowery banks to his eye,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>But far, very far were the friends that he loved,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  And he gazed on its flowery banks with a sigh.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>Thomas Moore</i>.</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
About ten o’clock on the morning of this
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12'></a>12</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13'></a>13</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“’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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14'></a>14</span>
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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“’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.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15'></a>15</span>
There is to be a notice as to time. Thee does
not mind this extra work, does thee, mother?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16'></a>16</span>
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“How thee talks,” chided Peggy. “Did
thee finish the shirt mother gave thee to
make? Methought that would woo thee from
thy megrims.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17'></a>17</span>
Reed wishes every woman and girl who makes
one to embroider her name on it.”
</p>
<p>
“’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?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Harriet,” gasped the Quaker maiden,
a look of vexation flashing across her face.
“What will Mistress Reed say?”
</p>
<p>
For across the shoulders of the garment was
embroidered in red letters: “Harriet Owen—A
loyal subject of the king.”
</p>
<p>
“What will she say?” repeated Peggy in
dismay.
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“’Tis naught to trouble over, my daughter,”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18'></a>18</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“I care more for assemblies and small
dances than I do for sports,” declared Harriet.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19'></a>19</span>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“And may I read until then?” queried the
girl wistfully. “The book is very enticing.
I but laid it aside to finish the shirt.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“What is it, Harriet?” questioned Peggy
as her mother left the room.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20'></a>20</span>
</p>
<p>
“’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.”
</p>
<p>
“But thee cannot go back until the war is
over,” Peggy reminded her. “Thee would
not wish to go without thy father, would
thee?”
</p>
<p>
“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!”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21'></a>21</span>
fought, and we are not conquered
yet.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“It may be,” observed Harriet carelessly,
“though I see not how it can.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy made no answer. She had spoken
more hopefully than she felt. In common
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22'></a>22</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“If after all we should fail,” she half
whispered and then sat up quickly as though
she had been guilty of disloyalty. “This
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23'></a>23</span>
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?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” answered Harriet who was gazing
dreamily into the fire. “Don’t let’s read,
Peggy.”
</p>
<p>
“But——” began Peggy when there came
the excited tones of Mrs. Owen from the hall
greeting a guest:
</p>
<p>
“And is it really thou, John? What
brings thee? Peggy will be so glad to see
thee. Come in, and welcome.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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<a name="FNanchor_1" id="FNanchor_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor"><sup>[1]</sup></a>
was so covered that its color was
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24'></a>24</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“Did what?” gasped Peggy, while Harriet
Owen sat suddenly bolt upright.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<hr class='fnsep' />
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1" id="Footnote_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a>
Cloak.
</p></div>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25'></a>25</span><a name='chII' id='chII'></a>CHAPTER II—HARRIET MAKES A PRESENT</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“Ah! never shall the land forget</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  How gushed the life-blood of her brave—</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Gushed, warm with hope and valor yet,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  Upon the soil they fought to save.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—“The Battle-Field,” <i>Bryant</i>.</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
“It is not true,” burst from the English
girl. “It can’t be. Met Colonel Tarleton
and utterly routed him? Impossible!”
</p>
<p>
“It doth indeed seem too good to be true,”
cried Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26'></a>26</span>
</p>
<p>
“Begin at the beginning and tell all and
everything,” commanded Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Has thee become a macaroni<a name="FNanchor_2" id="FNanchor_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor"><sup>[2]</sup></a>, John, that
thee has such a fine cloak?” queried Peggy as
she relieved Drayton of his beaver and roquelaure.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes; let us hear about Cowpens,” cried
Peggy eagerly. “Oh! I can scarce wait the
telling.”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27'></a>27</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28'></a>28</span>
fight and just what he wanted them to do.
The result was a glorious victory the next day.
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29'></a>29</span>
threw away their arms, and began to cry for
quarter.
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30'></a>30</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“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!”
</p>
<p>
“I thought you were a Quaker,” sneered
Harriet. “Do Friends so delight in warfare?”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31'></a>31</span>
Tarleton escaped, as thee is, John. He was so
good to me. Had it not been for him I would
not have been home.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“But you would rejoice at an English victory, Mistress
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32'></a>32</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“’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.”
</p>
<p>
“But to—to say that they r-ran,” sobbed
Harriet. “The British wouldn’t run.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Harriet hath been ill, John,” explained
Peggy in a low tone. “Thee must not mind
what she says.”
</p>
<p>
“I don’t,” returned he good-naturedly.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33'></a>33</span>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34'></a>34</span>
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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!”
</p>
<p>
“Lieutenant Drayton,” spoke Harriet suddenly.
She had quite recovered her composure by this time.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35'></a>35</span>
“Peggy did not tell you
that I have made a shirt too.”
</p>
<p>
“Not for the patriots?” he asked amazed.
</p>
<p>
“Yes; for the rebels,” she replied.
</p>
<p>
“Come!” he cried gayly. “You are improving.
We will have a good patriot out of
you yet.”
</p>
<p>
“Perhaps,” she responded graciously, a
roguish gleam coming into her eyes. “Are
you in need of shirts, lieutenant?”
</p>
<p>
Drayton’s face flushed, and then he laughed.
</p>
<p>
“I am not as badly off as some of our poor
fellows, Mistress Harriet, but they would not
come amiss. Why?”
</p>
<p>
“Because,” said she speaking deliberately,
“if you will accept it, I should like to give
you the shirt that I made.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes; to you. Will you promise to wear it
if I give it to you?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Harriet,” came from Peggy reproachfully,
but John Drayton answered with a
puzzled look:
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36'></a>36</span>
</p>
<p>
“I shall most certainly wear the garment if
you give it to me, mistress, and feel highly
complimented in so doing.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
A twinkle came into his eyes, but he took
the shirt from her, holding it tightly as he
said:
</p>
<p>
“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.’”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, give it back,” she exclaimed in consternation.
“I did not think of that.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37'></a>37</span>
</p>
<p>
“He hath thee, Harriet,” cried Peggy laughing.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Then you have heard the last of it, for
that I will never do,” said the lad solemnly.
</p>
<hr class='fnsep' />
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2" id="Footnote_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a>
Macaroni—a dandy.
</p></div>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38'></a>38</span><a name='chIII' id='chIII'></a>CHAPTER III—A GLIMPSE OF CLIFFORD</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“They rose in dark and evil days</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  To right their native land;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>They kindled here a living blaze</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  That nothing shall withstand.</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>     *     *     *     *     *</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“Then here’s their memory—may it be</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  For us a guiding light,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>To cheer our strife for liberty,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  And teach us to unite.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>John Kells Ingram</i>.</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39'></a>39</span>
achievements were prophesied for the army in
the South under Greene.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40'></a>40</span>
</p>
<p>
“I liked New York better than this,” went
on the English girl peevishly. “There was
so much more gayety.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Does thee?” cried Peggy much pleased.
“Why, I thought thee didn’t like Philadelphia?”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
For a moment Peggy could not answer for
indignation; then, choking back a crushing
retort, she replied sagely:
</p>
<p>
“The people are well enough, Harriet. ’Tis
thy feeling which is not right. Thee certainly
has the megrims to-day.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41'></a>41</span>
</p>
<p>
“Is not that Mr. Morris’s house?” asked
Harriet as they reached the southeast corner
of High and Front Streets.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Ah!” said Harriet surveying the residence
more intently. “So that is where he lived, is
it? ’Tis a fine dwelling.”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“He is very rich, isn’t he, Peggy?”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42'></a>42</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“It would not conquer us,” declared Peggy
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43'></a>43</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“Are there none but boys and men?”
questioned Harriet presently.
</p>
<p>
“’Tis not esteemed delicate for females to
skate,” Peggy informed her. “Though,” she
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44'></a>44</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“A lieutenant? Charmante! I dote on
army men,” cried Betty rapturously. “I remember
now about him. Does thee know
him also, Harriet?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” answered Harriet curling her lip.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45'></a>45</span>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Thee should not have presented it if thee
did not wish him to keep it.”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“Oh!” she cried merrily as with some
laughter and many details both Harriet and
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46'></a>46</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47'></a>47</span>
to be of it, and Robert must have proved
himself valorous else he would not have been
honored by being placed in it.”
</p>
<p>
“But ’tis a position of danger as well as
honor, Betty,” remarked Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“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.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48'></a>48</span>
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Does he look like Cousin William, Harriet?”
asked Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49'></a>49</span>
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Peggy Owen, Sally hath been telling thee
tales out of school,” cried Betty, her face flushing.
“When did thee see her?”
</p>
<p>
“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——”
</p>
<p>
“I must be going,” uttered Betty hastily.
“Good-bye, girls. Come and see me, Harriet,
but leave thy cousin at home.”
</p>
<p>
She darted away before Peggy could call
out the merry retort that rose to her lips.
Then the maiden turned to Harriet.
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“No; I believe that the walk hath done
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50'></a>50</span>
me good,” answered Harriet, who did look
better. “Still I feel a little cold. Let us walk
fast, Peggy.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“Hath there been another battle?” asked
Harriet, growing pale.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“True,” said Harriet. “I wonder if the
main army hath engaged with our troops?
Oh, I like not to see our men made prisoners!”
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51'></a>51</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
As he did so Harriet sprang forward with
an amazed cry:
</p>
<p>
“Clifford! Clifford! Clifford!”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52'></a>52</span><a name='chIV' id='chIV'></a>CHAPTER IV—A STRANGE PRESENTIMENT</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>“He alone</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  Is victor who stays not for any doom</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Foreshadowed; utters neither sigh nor moan;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  Death stricken, strikes for the right,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Nor counts his life his own.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—Atlantic Monthly Calendar, 1908.</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“’Twas Clifford,” she cried turning to
Peggy with a sob. “Oh, Peggy, what shall
I do? He is a prisoner.”
</p>
<p>
“Is thee sure that it was he, Harriet?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53'></a>53</span>
questioned Peggy who had been amazed at
what had taken place.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“I wish Cousin David were here. He
would know what to do,” cried Harriet greatly
excited. “Couldn’t we send for him, Peggy?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Then let us hurry, hurry,” exclaimed the
English girl clasping her hands convulsively
together.
</p>
<p>
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.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54'></a>54</span>
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“’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.”
</p>
<p>
“When did it happen, Peggy?”
</p>
<p>
“But now, John. Just as we were leaving
Pegg’s Run. Could thee find where they
went?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Lieutenant Drayton, will you find
him for me?” entreated Harriet.
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55'></a>55</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“I know not what to do,” objected Harriet
sinking into her favorite seat on the settle before
the fire. “What shall I do, Peggy?”
</p>
<p>
“Read to me from that poem, Harriet,”
suggested Peggy, bringing the volume to her
cousin. “Thee was to do that this morning
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56'></a>56</span>
when John came with news of the battle.
’Twill make the time pass more quickly.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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:
</p>
<p style='margin-left: 2em;'>
“‘Hail, holy Light, offspring of heaven first-born.’”
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57'></a>57</span>
poem. Her eyes kindled; her cheeks flushed,
and her accents became sonorous:
</p>
<p>
“‘Thus with the year<br />
Seasons return, but not to me returns<br />
Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn,<br />
Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer’s rose,<br />
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine;<br />
But cloud instead and ever during dark<br />
Surrounds me——’<br />
</p>
<p>
“Oh!” screamed the girl, suddenly letting
the book fall to the floor as she pressed her
hands to her eyes. “The dark! The dark!”
</p>
<p>
“What is it?” cried Peggy running to her.
“What is the matter, Harriet?”
</p>
<p>
“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!”
</p>
<p>
“What a fancy!” cried Peggy giving her a
little shake. “Thee is all upset, Harriet.
Mother must give thee some Jesuits’ Bark.”
</p>
<p>
“But I shall be,” moaned the girl. “I
know that it will happen.”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58'></a>58</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
She tucked her chin down on her breast,
and looked at her cousin so drolly that Harriet
laughed through her tears.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
Again Harriet laughed, well pleased with
the compliment.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59'></a>59</span>
for John, we will make mother let us get the
supper. Thou shalt make the chocolate, Harriet.
In that thee excels.”
</p>
<p>
And in this manner, talking to her as
though she were a little child, Peggy beguiled
her cousin into forgetfulness of her strange
foreboding.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60'></a>60</span><a name='chV' id='chV'></a>CHAPTER V—A DAY OF NOTE</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“Great were the hearts, and strong the minds,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  Of those, who framed, in high debate,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>The immortal league of love, that binds</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  Our fair, broad Empire, State with State.</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>     *     *     *     *     *</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“That noble race is gone; the suns</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  Of years have risen, and set;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>But the bright links those chosen ones</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  So strongly forged, are brighter yet.”</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
It was late that night when Drayton returned.
</p>
<p>
“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.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61'></a>61</span>
’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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62'></a>62</span>
overtake it. I leave to-morrow if the despatches
of Congress are ready.”
</p>
<p>
“So soon?” exclaimed Peggy in dismay.
“Why, thee came but yesterday, John.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63'></a>63</span>
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“How warm the sun is,” exclaimed Harriet
as she and Peggy were returning from a long
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64'></a>64</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65'></a>65</span>
</p>
<p>
“Do you think that I will hear to-day,
Peggy?” asked her cousin wistfully after one
of these stops.
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“Harriet,” she said, “does thee remember
the trouble that we got into at Middlebrook
by trying to pass letters to Sir
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66'></a>66</span>
Henry? Thee must not try to pass any letters
here.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67'></a>67</span>
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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!
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68'></a>68</span>
’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?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” confessed Peggy frankly. “It was,
Harriet.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“A battle! A battle!” cried Harriet excitedly
as they drew rein to listen. “Oh,
what if our people have attacked the
city?”
</p>
<p>
“Nay,” spoke Peggy. “’Tis more like that
there is something to celebrate. Listen! Does
thee not hear bells?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69'></a>69</span>
</p>
<p>
“I wonder what it can be?” exclaimed
Harriet. “I hope that ’tis not another victory
for the rebels.”
</p>
<p>
“Let us hasten, Harriet. We can find out
in no other way.” Peggy called to Tom, and
they set forward at speed.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, what can it be?” exclaimed Peggy
with some excitement. “I wish we knew.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70'></a>70</span>
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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 <em>feu de joie</em> from my ship yonder.”
</p>
<p>
He indicated a frigate beautifully decorated
with a variety of streamers anchored just off
the quay.
</p>
<p>
“The ‘Ariel,’” read Harriet, at which
Peggy opened her eyes wide.
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<div><a name='illus073' id='illus073'></a></div>
<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<a name='i003' id='i003'></a>
<img src="images/illus073.jpg" alt="“THEE MUST BE JOHN PAUL JONES”" title=""/><br />
<span class='caption'>“THEE MUST BE JOHN PAUL JONES”</span>
</div>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71'></a>71</span></div>
<p>
“The very same,” he answered with a profound
courtesy. “The very same, at your
service, ladies.”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“Well, and why not? Could I not give it
as correctly as another? I am honored to be
of service.”
</p>
<p>
He swept them another courtesy, and a little
confused by the meeting the two girls
thanked him, and rode on.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72'></a>72</span>
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.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73'></a>73</span><a name='chVI' id='chVI'></a>CHAPTER VI—A MESSAGE OF INDIGNATION</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>“Thou art a traitor:</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>False to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Conspirant ’gainst this high illustrous prince;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>And from the extremest upward of thy head,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>To the descent and dust beneath thy feet,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>A most toad-spotted traitor.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—“King Lear,” <i>Shakespeare</i>.</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
“Mother, did thee know about the celebration?”
asked Peggy, as the two girls entered
the sitting-room where Mrs. Owen sat sewing.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“From Lieutenant Drayton?” cried Harriet,
taking the missive eagerly. “Oh, I wonder
if he hath found Clifford?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74'></a>74</span>
</p>
<p>
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:
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“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<a name="FNanchor_3" id="FNanchor_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor"><sup>[3]</sup></a> 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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75'></a>75</span>
carefully, hoping to recognize your brother by
your description of him.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“It could not have been Clifford, then,”
Harriet paused to remark, looking at her
cousin wonderingly. “I see no resemblance
to you, Peggy.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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:
</p>
<p>
“‘I cry you pardon, sir, but are you Clifford
Owen, brother of Mistress Harriet Owen?’
</p>
<p>
“He looked at me queerly, it seemed to me,
before he replied:
</p>
<p>
“‘I am not he; but if it were my name I
see not what concern it is of yours.’
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76'></a>76</span>
</p>
<p>
“‘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.’
</p>
<p>
“‘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.
</p>
<p>
“‘If you are agreeable, sir, I would fain
know your name?’
</p>
<p>
“‘You are persistent,’ he cried with some
heat. ‘I am not the man you seek; then why
should you wish my name?’
</p>
<p>
“‘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.’
</p>
<p>
“‘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?’
</p>
<p>
“‘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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77'></a>77</span>
with the others, who seemed not averse to
conversation.
</p>
<p>
“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:
</p>
<p>
“‘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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78'></a>78</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“‘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.
</p>
<p>
“‘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.’
</p>
<p>
“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!’
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79'></a>79</span>
</p>
<p>
“‘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.’
</p>
<p>
“‘With your aid?’ he fumed. ‘I will rot
in prison before I accept aid from a Yankee
captain.’
</p>
<p>
“‘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.’
</p>
<p>
“‘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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80'></a>80</span>
over and over, and pummeling each other
like two schoolboys.
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“‘Have done, lieutenant,’ cried the officer.
’Do you want to kill him? I can’t have my
prisoner beat up.’
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81'></a>81</span>
liking. A little later I heard him calling for
inkhorn and powder,<a name="FNanchor_4" id="FNanchor_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor"><sup>[4]</sup></a> so that if he writes in
heat to you, this will inform you of the
reason.
</p>
<p>
“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:
</p>
<p>
“‘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.’
</p>
<p>
“‘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.
</p>
<p>
“‘I shall tell him naught, I dare not,’ he
said. ‘Only go not near him before you leave,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82'></a>82</span>
lieutenant. I know not what will happen if
you do.’
</p>
<p>
“‘And I know that whatever happens I
must have a whole skin for the delivery of my
despatches,’ I answered laughing.
</p>
<p>
“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
</p>
<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>“Your humble and devoted servant,</p>
<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>“<span class='sc'>John Drayton</span>.</p>
<p>
“<em>To Mistress Harriet Owen</em>,<br />
“<em>Philadelphia, Pa.</em>”<br />
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“Softly, softly, my child,” spoke Mrs. Owen
mildly, with difficulty suppressing her smiles,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83'></a>83</span>
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?”
</p>
<p>
“I know not,” answered Harriet soberly.
“I suppose ’twas because he feared father
would make him withdraw from the service
should he find him.”
</p>
<p>
“Mayhap he explains the matter in his
letter,” suggested Peggy picking up the neglected
enclosure, and handing it to Harriet.
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“‘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?
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84'></a>84</span>
</p>
<p>
“‘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.
</p>
<p>
“‘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.
</p>
<p>
“‘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.
</p>
<p>
“‘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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85'></a>85</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“‘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.
</p>
<p>
“‘I came with Lord Rawdon to the colonies,
and have been with him ever since, mostly in
the province of Georgia. We conquered that
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86'></a>86</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“‘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<a name="FNanchor_5" id="FNanchor_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor"><sup>[5]</sup></a>
are. ’Tis said that there is a regular
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87'></a>87</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“‘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.
</p>
<p>
“‘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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88'></a>88</span>
strangle him in his arms at last. Would that
our minister could send us a Hercules to conquer
these rebels.
</p>
<p>
“‘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.
</p>
<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>“’<span class='sc'>Wilson Williams</span></p>
<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>(<span class='sc'>Clifford Owen</span>).’</p>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89'></a>89</span>
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<hr class='fnsep' />
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3" id="Footnote_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a>
Now Elkton, Maryland.
</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4" id="Footnote_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a>
Horn ink-bottle, and powder, or sand, to dry the written page.
</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5" id="Footnote_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a>
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.”
</p></div>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90'></a>90</span><a name='chVII' id='chVII'></a>CHAPTER VII—HARRIET TAKES MATTERS IN HAND</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“I feel less anger than regret.</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>No violence of speech, no obloquy,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>No accusation shall escape my lips:</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Need there is none, nor reason, to avoid</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>My questions: if thou value truth, reply.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—“Count Julian,” <em>Walter Savage Landor</em>.</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91'></a>91</span>
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis very kind of you, my cousin,” said
the girl with sudden feeling. “But you will
like Clifford. Indeed no one can help it.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92'></a>92</span>
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93'></a>93</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“But I intend to go back with him,” Harriet
informed her composedly.
</p>
<p>
“Thee does?” asked Peggy in surprise.
“Why?”
</p>
<p>
“’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.”
</p>
<p>
“But would he wish thee to be there, my
child?” questioned Mrs. Owen gravely. “I
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94'></a>94</span>
cannot but think that he would prefer that
thee should remain with us until he either
comes or sends for thee.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95'></a>95</span>
to maintain one must spend money, and no
one knows it any better than my father.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Will you never be naught but a prim
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96'></a>96</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Thee is saucy,” was Peggy’s retort, as Harriet
ran out of the room, pausing only long
enough to make a mouth at her.
</p>
<p>
But Harriet’s high spirits had vanished the
next morning when she returned from her
visit to Mr. Reed.
</p>
<p>
“What think you?” she cried bursting in
upon Peggy who was ironing in the kitchen.
“Mr. Reed will see that the parole is given
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97'></a>97</span>
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!”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Mr. Reed was much taken with Harriet,”
observed Mrs. Owen, entering the kitchen as
the English maiden left it.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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——”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98'></a>98</span>
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Owen laughed.
</p>
<p>
“How well thee knows me, Peggy. But
thou art fond of her too, art thou not?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99'></a>99</span>
truth hold it to be just. An open foe is ever
best, Peggy.”
</p>
<p>
“It isn’t politics, mother. At least not her
feeling toward us, though it is trying to stand
some of her comments, but——”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“’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.”
</p>
<p>
“Thee may dismiss the matter from thy
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100'></a>100</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“I am so glad,” said Peggy again, and much
relieved resumed her neglected ironing.
</p>
<p>
The days passed. March glided into April,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101'></a>101</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“Let me go to the door, madam my cousin,”
exclaimed Harriet as Mrs. Owen started to
answer the knocker.
</p>
<p>
“Very well, Harriet,” assented the matron
with a smile.
</p>
<p>
But both Peggy and her mother were
startled to hear Mr. Reed say gravely, in answer
to Harriet’s eager questioning:
</p>
<p>
“Nay; ’tis not about the parole I am come,
Mistress Harriet, but anent a more serious
matter.”
</p>
<p>
“And what, sir, could be more serious than
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102'></a>102</span>
my brother’s release?” came Harriet’s clear
voice.
</p>
<p>
“A charge against you, mistress, would be
much more serious,” was the reply.
</p>
<p>
“Of what do you accuse me, sir?” was the
girl’s haughty query.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Come, Peggy,” cried Mrs. Owen rising.
“We will see what this means.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103'></a>103</span><a name='chVIII' id='chVIII'></a>CHAPTER VIII—HOSPITALITY BETRAYED</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“For right is right, since God is God;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  And right the day must win;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>To doubt would be disloyalty,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  To falter would be sin.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—“The Right Must Win,”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'><em>Frederick William Faber</em>.</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
“What is the trouble, Friend Reed?” asked
Mrs. Owen as she entered the hall.
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“Madam—I need hardly ask, and yet I
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104'></a>104</span>
must—did you know that this girl here had
been communicating with the enemy?”
</p>
<p>
“No; I did not know of it. Harriet, is such
the case? Hast thou indeed been guilty of
this?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“This then,” said Mr. Reed producing a
letter from his coat, “this then is yours?”
</p>
<p>
Harriet took the missive and scanned it
quickly.
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105'></a>105</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106'></a>106</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107'></a>107</span>
use their patriotism as a mask to aid the side
with which they truly sympathize.”
</p>
<p>
Harriet stared at him in dismay, and turned
very pale as a wail broke from Peggy:
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Harriet, Harriet! why did thee do it?
And thee promised.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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:
</p>
<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'>
“’<span class='sc'>Gentlemen of the Council</span>:
</p>
<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'>
“‘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.’”
</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108'></a>108</span></div>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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——”
</p>
<p>
“What?” she cried anxiously. “Oh, I
pray ’tis not arrest.”
</p>
<p>
“Wait,” he said. “The arrest was thought
of, but the council consented to give it o’er
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109'></a>109</span>
on condition that you withdraw immediately
into the enemy’s lines. In short, mistress,
you are to be sent to New York.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110'></a>110</span>
</p>
<p>
“Say something, one of you,” cried the girl
suddenly. “I’d rather you would be angry
than to sit there like that.”
</p>
<p>
“How could thee do it?” came from Peggy.
“Oh, Harriet! doesn’t thee ever keep thy
word?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111'></a>111</span>
enjoying? Was not the letter inexcusable as
a breach of hospitality?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112'></a>112</span>
day will ever come when one of you will
meet favors with aught but trickery?”
</p>
<p>
“Peggy,” chided her mother sharply.
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
Harriet looked at her for a moment unable
to make any reply, but presently she spoke in
tones that were unusually gentle for her:
</p>
<p>
“Peggy, the day will come when you shall
see what I will do. We are not all bad, if we
are English.”
</p>
<p>
“Don’t ever promise about anything any
more,” sobbed Peggy. “I can never believe
thee again.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Harriet,” she sobbed putting her arms
about her, “since thee must go I wish the
mode was different.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113'></a>113</span>
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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!”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, mother, I am so tired of it all,” said
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114'></a>114</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115'></a>115</span><a name='chIX' id='chIX'></a>CHAPTER IX—THE DICTATES OF HUMANITY</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“The sweetest lives are those to duty wed</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  Whose deeds both great and small,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Are close knit strands of an unbroken thread,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  Where love ennobles all.</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>The world may sound no trumpets, ring no bells;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>The Book of Life the shining record tells.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<em>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</em>.</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
Her irritability, her unpleasant remarks,
her ceaseless demand upon their service were
soon forgotten. The grace and dignity that
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116'></a>116</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“I believe that I am lonesome without
Harriet,” declared Peggy one evening. “Is
thee, mother?”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“’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.”
</p>
<p>
“With me, mother?” exclaimed Peggy
flushing scarlet at this praise. “Thee should
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117'></a>117</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“I wonder,” said Peggy musingly, “why
Clifford did not write to her? It would have
saved all this trouble had he done so.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“The parole will not be given now, will it,
mother?”
</p>
<p>
“I think Mr. Reed would exert himself
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118'></a>118</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<div><a name='illus123' id='illus123'></a></div>
<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<a name='i004' id='i004'></a>
<img src="images/illus123.jpg" alt="“I HAVE HEARD NOTHING”" title=""/><br />
<span class='caption'>“I HAVE HEARD NOTHING”</span>
</div>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119'></a>119</span></div>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“That was the knocker,” cried Peggy, starting
up. “I wonder who it can be at this time
of night?”
</p>
<p>
“We shall soon see,” said her mother taking
up a candle and proceeding to the hall. “Who
is it?” she called cautiously.
</p>
<p>
“’Tis I, Sally. Open quickly. I have
news,” answered the clear voice of Sally
Evans.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“Harriet!” she gasped. “I want Harriet.”
</p>
<p>
“Harriet is gone, Sally,” exclaimed Peggy.
“Has thee not heard?”
</p>
<p>
“Gone where?” asked Sally in dismay. “I
have heard nothing. She must be found, wherever
she hath gone. There is news——”
</p>
<p>
“Come in and sit down,” said Mrs. Owen
drawing her into the sitting-room. “Now
tell us what hath occurred.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120'></a>120</span>
</p>
<p>
“I should tell Harriet,” persisted Sally,
who was plainly excited. “Where hath she
gone?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“We have been so busy,” explained Sally
recovering herself a little. “What shall I do?
Her brother is dying in the Williamsburg
Hospital.”
</p>
<p>
“What! Not Clifford?” cried Mrs. Owen
and Peggy simultaneously.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121'></a>121</span>
</p>
<p>
“No,” said Mrs. Owen. “She is not here.
Oh, the poor boy!”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p style='margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;'>
“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!
</p>
<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; margin-right:2em;;'>“<span class='sc'>Clifford.</span>”</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122'></a>122</span>
on her hand and sat in deep perplexity for a
while. “Sally,” she said abruptly, “can the
doctor be seen to-night?”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“Alone? Nay; wait until I get my cloak.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Let us both go, mother,” suggested Peggy,
running for their wraps.
</p>
<p>
“And I would like to see the doctor,” said
Mrs. Owen as Sally began again to expostulate.
</p>
<p>
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.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123'></a>123</span>
</p>
<p>
“How did the doctor say he was, mother?”
asked Peggy as they started for home.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“’Twill mean more whispers against our
patriotism, will it not, mother?”
</p>
<p>
“It cannot be helped, Peggy. If others
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124'></a>124</span>
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?”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125'></a>125</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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——”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126'></a>126</span>
</p>
<p>
And with the Quaker habit of self-repression
mother and daughter put aside
their emotion to prepare for the coming
journey.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127'></a>127</span><a name='chX' id='chX'></a>CHAPTER X—FAREWELL TO HOME</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“Such was the season when equipt we stood</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>On the green banks of Schuylkill’s winding flood,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>A road immense, yet promised joys so dear,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>That toils and doubts and dangers disappear.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—“The Foresters,” <em>Alexander Wilson</em>.</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128'></a>128</span>
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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!”
</p>
<p>
“I fear thee will have to be content without
her for this time, Peggy. It will not be for
long.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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!”
</p>
<p>
The little mare whinnied and rubbed her
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129'></a>129</span>
nose gently against her young mistress as
though she too would like to go. Peggy
stroked her softly.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Peggy, I think thee has the most
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130'></a>130</span>
luck,” grumbled Betty. “The South hath all
the fighting, and thee is going right there.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“That was what mother and I thought,
Sally. Would that I had thy skill and experience in
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131'></a>131</span>
nursing. Then perchance I could
bring my cousin back to health.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“I’ll warrant thee has,” laughed Peggy.
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132'></a>132</span>
for the journey. She was ready presently,
and then Sally cleared her throat in an oratorical
manner.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“All and everything,” supplemented Betty
eagerly.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133'></a>133</span>
in this little book for the benefit of thy friends
The Circle can enjoy thy journey as well as
thou.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“Such an utterance from a member of The
Social Select Circle,” rebuked Peggy. “I’m
surprised at thee, Betty.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“We wouldn’t now, though,” answered
Sally. “He doesn’t speak French, Betty.”
</p>
<p>
“Sally, thee is dreadful! Don’t listen to
her, Peggy. She is always trying to tease.”
</p>
<p>
“I shall not, Betty,” consoled Peggy, casting a mischievous
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134'></a>134</span>
glance at Sally. “Never
mind. Thee is patriotic, anyway.”
</p>
<p>
“How?” asked Sally as Betty, foreseeing
some further jest, would not speak.
</p>
<p>
“By helping to cement the French Alliance,
of course,” laughed Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“It must be the nurse,” exclaimed Peggy.
“And mother is calling, too. Come, girls.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135'></a>135</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136'></a>136</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“Mother!” breathed Peggy, her eyes glowing
with the idea. “Could not the young
man ride Star?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137'></a>137</span>
you can take a little gallop occasionally to relieve
the monotony of riding.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
The nurse’s eyes filled with tears.
</p>
<p>
“We have need of everything, madam,” she
said. “’Twill gladden our hearts to receive
anything in the nature of supplies.”
</p>
<p>
They were ready at last, and Peggy approached
her girl friends for a last good-bye.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Betty, Betty, thee is grown frivolous,” expostulated
Peggy. “Sally, thee must deal
with her severely.”
</p>
<p>
“She shall help me to care for the next
doughty Englishman that comes to the hospital,”
declared Sally. “Still, Peggy, if the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138'></a>138</span>
young man should break his silence ’twould
be naught amiss to record the happening, for
the delectation of The Circle.”
</p>
<p>
“Thee is as bad as Betty, Sally. I shall
keep the diary right with me, girls, and put
down whatever of interest occurs.”
</p>
<p>
“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!”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139'></a>139</span><a name='chXI' id='chXI'></a>CHAPTER XI—ON THE ROAD</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“The rolling world is girdled with the sound,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  Perpetually breathed from all who dwell</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Upon its bosom, for no place is found</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  Where is not heard, ‘Farewell.’”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>Celia Thaxter</i>.</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140'></a>140</span>
They had passed the Bettering House by this
time and were well on their way toward the
lower ferry.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis another time that I merit not thy
praise,” explained the maiden. “’Tis all due
to mother. She cautioned me about giving
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141'></a>141</span>
way to my feelings, thinking that I would
need my strength for the journey.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“And were you in the city when they held
possession?”
</p>
<p>
“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.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142'></a>142</span>
The English cut them down for fire-wood, and
to help build their fortifications. And so
many of our beautiful country places were
burned.”
</p>
<p>
“’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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143'></a>143</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144'></a>144</span>
</p>
<p>
“‘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.
</p>
<p>
“‘And where is thy tongue, Peggy?’ I
hear thee ask.
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145'></a>145</span>
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
The roads were good and hard, and the
riding pleasant in the early morning. But
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146'></a>146</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
Nurse Johnson laughed as she caught the
girl’s look.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147'></a>147</span>
had become overcast with clouds. A heavy
drop of rain falling upon her face compelled
the girl’s attention.
</p>
<p>
“Why, ’tis raining,” she exclaimed in surprise.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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:
</p>
<p>
“It looks like rain.”
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148'></a>148</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“I cry thee pardon, Friend Fairfax,” she
gasped. “It doth indeed look like rain.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“It is raining,” he corrected himself, which
remark but added to the girl’s mirth.
</p>
<p>
“Where are we?” asked his mother as
Peggy took her place beside her.
</p>
<p>
“We are near His Excellency’s plantation,
mother.”
</p>
<p>
“His Excellency?” cried Peggy. “Do you
mean General Washington’s house, friend
nurse?”
</p>
<p>
“To be sure, Peggy,” said Mrs. Johnson
glancing about her. “Mount Vernon lies just
beyond us on our left. We must put in there.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149'></a>149</span><a name='chXII' id='chXII'></a>CHAPTER XII—THE HOME OF WASHINGTON</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“By broad Potowmack’s azure tide,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Where Vernon’s Mount in sylvan pride,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  Displays its beauties fair.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—“Ode to Mount Vernon,”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'><i>David Humphreys.</i></p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“’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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150'></a>150</span>
</p>
<p>
“True,” said Peggy. “Then will it not be
an intrusion to go there during her absence?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151'></a>151</span>
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!”
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152'></a>152</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153'></a>153</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“Well, well, Hannah Johnson,” he said.
“Who would ever have thought of seeing you
here? Quite a little sprinkle we’re having.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154'></a>154</span>
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
At this moment a pleasant-faced, plump
little woman came bustling into the hall, and
hastened to greet them.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“These are just the things for you, my dear,”
she said. “They were Martha’s, and will fit
you exceedingly well.”
</p>
<p>
“I thank thee,” said Peggy taking them
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155'></a>155</span>
reverently, for Martha had been Lady Washington’s
only daughter, and she had been told
of her early death.
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“It pleases me well,” answered Peggy surveying
her reflection with a smile. “In truth
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156'></a>156</span>
it hath been long since I have been arrayed so
gayly. Mother doth not approve of much
dressing while the war lasts.”
</p>
<p>
“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<a name="FNanchor_6" id="FNanchor_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor"><sup>[6]</sup></a> were here to depict
your likeness.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157'></a>157</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
A spirit of mischief seized her, and made
her sit silent, waiting for him to speak.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
Her patience was soon rewarded. The
youth struggled bravely with his bashfulness,
and presently turned to her.
</p>
<p>
“It hath stopped raining,” he said.
</p>
<p>
Peggy’s dimples came suddenly, and her
eyes twinkled, but she answered demurely:
</p>
<p>
“It hath, Friend Fairfax, for which I am
glad. It was a severe storm. Did thee get
very wet?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” he answered. “It rained hard.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158'></a>158</span>
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes. Didn’t seem to mind it a bit, after
the first scare. Did you get wet?”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
Peggy caught her breath at the suddenness
of the thing, and colored also.
</p>
<p>
“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.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159'></a>159</span>
’Twas not seemly in thee. And how shall I
answer him?”
</p>
<p>
She was saved the necessity of a reply, however,
by Mr. Washington, who said:
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, I should be pleased,” cried Peggy her
animation returning at this. “Thee is very
kind, sir.”
</p>
<p>
“The pleasure will be mine,” was the courteous
reply.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160'></a>160</span>
you can form an idea of the extent of the
plantation by this détour.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161'></a>161</span>
various kinds, and was a noble hunting
ground.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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:
</p>
<p>
“No view of Mount Vernon is complete
without a look at the Potomac from the wharf,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162'></a>162</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“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!”
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163'></a>163</span>
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.
</p>
<hr class='fnsep' />
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6" id="Footnote_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a>
Portrait-painter.
</p></div>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164'></a>164</span><a name='chXIII' id='chXIII'></a>CHAPTER XIII—THE APPEARANCE OF THE ENEMY</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“The word went forth from the throne:</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  ‘Reap down their crops with your swords!</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>    Harry! ravage!</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  Hound on the rage of your hireling hordes,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>    Hessian and savage!’”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'><i>—Leonard Woolsey Bacon.</i></p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, the general’s home! The general’s
beautiful home will be burned!”
</p>
<p>
With the words came a realization of the
necessity for action. With an effort she threw
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165'></a>165</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“The British!” panted Peggy. “The
British are coming up the river!”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“And what is it, my dear?” asked Mrs.
Washington as Peggy sank weakly on the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166'></a>166</span>
steps of the porch. “Why are you so
pale? Know you the cause of the commotion?”
</p>
<p>
“It’s the British,” repeated the maiden
fearfully. “A British ship is coming.”
</p>
<p>
“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:
</p>
<p>
“Let us not despond. It may be that they
will exempt this place from destruction. Let
us hope.”
</p>
<p>
“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!”
</p>
<p>
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.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167'></a>167</span>
</p>
<p>
“What plantation is this?” he demanded
brusquely.
</p>
<p>
“It is Mount Vernon,” replied the overseer.
</p>
<p>
“Mount Vernon, eh? The seat of the rebel
leader?”
</p>
<p>
“It is General Washington’s home, sir,”
was the reply.
</p>
<p>
“So I thought, so I thought,” returned the
officer with a chuckle. “Are you in charge
here?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes; I am Lund Washington, General
George Washington’s relative, and represent
him during his absence,” Mr. Washington informed
him with dignity.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“And if I refuse?” said Mr. Washington.
</p>
<p>
“Refuse!” roared the officer. “If you
refuse, by St. George I’ll burn every building
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168'></a>168</span>
on the place and run off all your negroes.
Now do as you please about it.”
</p>
<p>
Mr. Washington hesitated no longer.
</p>
<p>
“I will comply with your demands,” he
said simply. He would do anything rather
than that the general should lose his home.
</p>
<p>
“And mind,” called Captain Graves, “I
want no dallying.”
</p>
<p>
“There will be none,” answered the overseer
quickening his footsteps.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy looked up in amazement, thinking
that she had not heard aright.
</p>
<p>
“Is thee going to give them breakfast and
supplies from General Washington’s place,
sir?” she asked.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169'></a>169</span>
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“That is just it,” declared the girl turning
toward him quickly, surprised that a negro
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170'></a>170</span>
should grasp the point of honor affected.
“What is thy name?” she added. “I should
like to know it.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” answered Peggy smiling. “I know
him, Bishop. I used to see him often at Middlebrook.
And so thee is Bishop?”
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171'></a>171</span>
have it succor the enemies of his
country.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“I must,” spoke Peggy quickly. “There is
my cousin dying, friend nurse. I must go
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172'></a>172</span>
on. Does thee fear an invasion of the whole
state?”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“How much longer will it be before we
reach Williamsburg?” inquired the girl.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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——”
</p>
<p>
“Then you must get back as quickly as
possible,” said the nurse.
</p>
<p>
After all Peggy and old Bishop were right
regarding General Washington’s feelings concerning
the raid on the plantation.
</p>
<p>
“It would have been a less painful circumstance
to me,” he wrote to his representative
when he heard of the matter, “to have heard
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173'></a>173</span>
that, in consequence of your non-compliance
with their request, they had burned my house
and laid my plantation in ruins.”
</p>
<p>
So sensitive was this man concerning anything
that would seem to touch his honor.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174'></a>174</span><a name='chXIV' id='chXIV'></a>CHAPTER XIV—THE JOURNEY’S END</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“Thy love shall chant its own beatitudes</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>After its own life working...</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>A poor man served by thee shall make thee rich;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>A sick man helped by thee shall make thee strong;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Thou shalt be served thyself by every sense</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Of service which thou renderest.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>Elizabeth Barrett Browning.</i></p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175'></a>175</span>
place, for she had heard much of its gayety
and fashion.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Hath it?” exclaimed Peggy in surprise.
“I did not know it. When was it, friend
nurse?”
</p>
<p>
“’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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176'></a>176</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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?
</p>
<p>
Was this modest hamlet with its few
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177'></a>177</span>
detached houses with no pretentions to architectural
beauty the gay capital of Virginia?
As though divining her feeling Nurse Johnson
spoke.
</p>
<p>
“Virginia is a state of large plantations and
few cities,” she said.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
She sat for a time lost in thought, and then
spoke mournfully:
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178'></a>178</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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:
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy sank obediently into the high-backed
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179'></a>179</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“I wish mother were here,” she thought, a
great wave of longing sweeping over her.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180'></a>180</span>
“Oh, I do wish that mother were here, or else
that everything was done that must be done
so that I could go back.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“’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——”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181'></a>181</span>
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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!”
</p>
<p>
The nurse bent over the lad, and touched
him gently.
</p>
<p>
“Captain Williams,” she said. “Here is
some one to see you.”
</p>
<p>
His eyes opened, and Peggy almost gasped,
so like were they to David Owen’s.
</p>
<p>
“Harriet,” whispered the youth making a
weak attempt to rise. “Hath she come at
last?”
</p>
<p>
“It is not Harriet,” said Peggy touching
his forehead gently, “but Peggy, my cousin.”
</p>
<p>
The young fellow turned a wondering look
upon her.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182'></a>182</span>
</p>
<p>
“But Harriet, Harriet?” he murmured.
“Why do you call me cousin?”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“I want Harriet,” reiterated the youth turning
away from her. “Why have you come?
I want you not.”
</p>
<p>
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:
</p>
<p>
“I want you not. Why have you come?”
she could no longer control her feelings but
burst into tears.
</p>
<p>
“I came because thy sister was sent on to
New York and could not come,” she sobbed.
</p>
<div><a name='illus189' id='illus189'></a></div>
<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<a name='i005' id='i005'></a>
<img src="images/illus189.jpg" alt="“WHY HAVE YOU COME?”" title=""/><br />
<span class='caption'>“WHY HAVE YOU COME?”</span>
</div>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183'></a>183</span></div>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“I am not going to die,” said he in an obstinate
voice. “And I shall save my last
messages for my sister.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184'></a>184</span>
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“And now you too must rest,” said the
nurse. “Come, my child, to my home.”
</p>
<p>
“But these other poor fellows,” said Peggy.
“Can we not make them comfortable first?”
</p>
<p>
“We will let the others attend to it for
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185'></a>185</span>
to-night, Peggy. The first duty in nursing is to
keep one’s self in trim, otherwise the nurse
herself becomes a patient. Come.”
</p>
<p>
And nothing loth Peggy followed her.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186'></a>186</span><a name='chXV' id='chXV'></a>CHAPTER XV—PEGGY IS TROUBLED</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  “Blow, blow thou winter wind,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Thou art not so unkind as man’s ingratitude.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—“<i>As You Like It.</i>”</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187'></a>187</span>
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
Nurse Johnson threw aside her sewing and
came to her side.
</p>
<p>
“Child,” she said, “what troubles you?
Are you homesick?”
</p>
<p>
“Friend nurse,” answered Peggy abruptly,
“my cousin doth not like me.”
</p>
<p>
“Why do you think so, Peggy?” asked the
nurse quietly. “Hath he been rude?”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” responded Mrs. Johnson with conviction. “He
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188'></a>188</span>
surely is. He began to mend
from the day you came. The matron, the
doctors, the nurses all say so.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Still,” said Peggy, “I wish he were not so
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189'></a>189</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190'></a>190</span>
</p>
<p>
“Have you writ anent the matter to her,
Peggy?”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“I have seen them on the Market Green,”
answered Peggy. “Is the fact alarming,
friend nurse?”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191'></a>191</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“If it were not for Clifford I could go on
Star,” mused Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“There should be some brightness,” she
mused. “’Tis passing hard to lie all day in
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192'></a>192</span>
bed with no hint of the spring time. I have
it.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193'></a>193</span>
poor violets received. “I think thee looks
brighter.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Very well,” assented Peggy with becoming
meekness, quietly arranging the salver in
front of him.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Would I had died,” broke from him passionately,
tears of humiliation in his eyes,
“ere I was brought to lie here like a baby
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194'></a>194</span>
compelled to accept services that I wish
not.”
</p>
<p>
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:
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195'></a>195</span>
war, and she had not known these troublesome
cousins.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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:
</p>
<p>
“I am thinking of the great wood, cousin,
which used to lie along the banks of the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196'></a>196</span>
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——”
</p>
<p>
“What have you done with Harriet?”
interrupted he in a tense tone.
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
For a moment Peggy was so amazed that she
could only stare at him. When she had recovered
sufficiently to speak she said clearly:
</p>
<p>
“I think thee must be out of thy mind,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197'></a>197</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“But why should she be prevented?” demanded
the astounded Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“Because ’twas feared that once she was
with me she would return to her allegiance.
That my influence would make her remember
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198'></a>198</span>
that Colonel Owen’s daughter could show no
favors to a Yankee captain; that——”
</p>
<p>
“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.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199'></a>199</span>
</p>
<p>
“And why is she not here?” he asked
obstinately.
</p>
<p>
The girl rose quickly.
</p>
<p>
“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!”
</p>
<p>
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:
</p>
<p>
“The British! The British are coming!”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200'></a>200</span><a name='chXVI' id='chXVI'></a>CHAPTER XVI—THE TABLES TURNED</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Blushed—at the praise of their own loveliness.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>Byron.</i></p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
The sound of a few shots was borne presently
on the breeze, followed by the rush of
running men, and the militia which had
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201'></a>201</span>
marched forth so bravely but a short time
before, came flying back, panic stricken.
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
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:
</p>
<p>
“Mistress Peggy!”
</p>
<p>
“Well, my cousin?” Peggy went back to
Clifford reluctantly.
</p>
<p>
“Are my people truly coming?”
</p>
<p>
“They seem to be,” answered the girl.
</p>
<p>
“And where were you going?”
</p>
<p>
“I really don’t know,” answered she. “I
would be alone at Nurse Johnson’s cottage,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202'></a>202</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“Stay by me,” he said.
</p>
<p>
“But thee has hardly ceased telling me
that thee does not want me near thee?” cried
the girl opening wide her eyes in surprise.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“I don’t want thy protection,” began
Peggy hotly. “I think I prefer thy soldiers.”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203'></a>203</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“So?” he said. “That is quite as it should
be.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204'></a>204</span>
bedside forthwith. As it was she sat down beside
him in anything but a meek frame of
mind.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“Ha!” cried the English officer. “What
have we here?” and he paused beside
him.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Ha! yes; I remember. Taken at Westchester while
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205'></a>205</span>
on private business for Sir Henry
Clinton,” said the other.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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:
</p>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206'></a>206</span>
</p>
<p>
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:
</p>
<p>
“I thank thee, my cousin. I will not forget
thy kindness in the matter.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“May I come again to attend thee?” she
asked in a low tone. “Thee is not well yet,
thee must know.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” he said. “Come, and you will,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207'></a>207</span>
mistress. I will not mind your ministrations
so much now.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
Before Peggy could make reply the officer
removed his cocked hat, bowing courteously.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“What doth it mean, child?” she gasped
as every article taken was restored to its place,
and a guard mounted before the dwelling.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208'></a>208</span>
“Why are we so favored when our poor neighbors
are faring so ill?”
</p>
<p>
“’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.”
</p>
<p>
“Well, of all things!” exclaimed the nurse.
“And you thought he did not like you!”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
So Peggy and her friend stayed in the cottage,
or went back and forth to the hospital
untroubled, save for the irksomeness of having
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209'></a>209</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210'></a>210</span>
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.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211'></a>211</span><a name='chXVII' id='chXVII'></a>CHAPTER XVII—AN UNWELCOME ENCOUNTER</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“He stood alone—A renegade</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Against the Country he betrayed.”</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
The birds sang merrily above her head, flitting from
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212'></a>212</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
Alas! as he came directly in front of her he
raised his eyes, and then stopped abruptly with
an exclamation of surprise and wonder.
</p>
<p>
“Why! it is Miss Peggy Owen, is it not?”
he asked with a genial smile.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213'></a>213</span>
my girl friend down here. I give you greeting.”
</p>
<p>
“And I give thee greeting also, sir,” she
returned. But she did not put out her hand.
She could not.
</p>
<p>
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.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214'></a>214</span>
</p>
<p>
“I give thee greeting, sir,” she said with
unsmiling lips. “Greeting and good-day.”
And she made as if to pass him.
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” she made answer. “Thee has the
right. Any man may change.”
</p>
<p>
“Then why condemn me?” he cried with
passion.
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215'></a>215</span>
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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“No,” she answered reluctant to prolong
the interview. “I do not, sir; nor do I wish
to.”
</p>
<p>
“Child,” he said, regarding her with a winsome
smile, “once you were beset with pride
because you walked the length of a drawingroom by
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216'></a>216</span>
my side. Will you pleasure me with
your company down this street?”
</p>
<p>
Peggy’s eyes were misty, and her voice full
of infinite sadness as she replied:
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
Over his dark forehead, cheek, and neck
the red blood rioted at her words, and his
dark eyes flashed ominously.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<div><a name='illus225' id='illus225'></a></div>
<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<a name='i006' id='i006'></a>
<img src="images/illus225.jpg" alt="”BENEDICT ARNOLD FORCES HIS PRESENCE UPON NO ONE“" title=""/><br />
<span class='caption'>”BENEDICT ARNOLD FORCES HIS PRESENCE UPON NO ONE“</span>
</div>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217'></a>217</span></div>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218'></a>218</span>
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Which accounts for the guard. Ah! Mistress
Peggy, I see that despite your Whig
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219'></a>219</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
Bowing low he left her, and feeling somehow
very uncomfortable Peggy went on to
her cousin.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220'></a>220</span><a name='chXVIII' id='chXVIII'></a>CHAPTER XVIII—UNDER THE LINDENS</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“Snatch from the ashes of your sires,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>The embers of the former fires;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>And leave your sons a hope, a fame,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>They too will rather die than shame;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>For Freedom’s battle once begun,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Though baffled oft is ever won.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—“The Giaour,” <i>Byron.</i></p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221'></a>221</span>
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Thee is cross, and hungry; which is vastly
encouraging,” commented the maiden sagely.
</p>
<p>
The youth looked up at her with the merest
suspicion of a smile.
</p>
<p>
“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;
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222'></a>222</span>
and as for hunger——” He paused as though
words failed to express his feelings.
</p>
<p>
“Then thee had better fall to at once,” suggested
Peggy. “And thee is talking too much,
I fear.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“I like not to be beholden to any,” he remarked.
“’Twill serve to repay in part for
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223'></a>223</span>
your nursing. I see not yet why you should
journey so far to care for an unknown kinsman.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224'></a>224</span>
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Arnold, the traitor?” exclaimed Nurse
Johnson.
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis hard to tell, Peggy. I blame you not
for not wanting to meet with him, but ’tis a
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225'></a>225</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“’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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226'></a>226</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“Why could I not go to thy son, while thee
stays and cooks the cakes?” asked Peggy
eagerly.
</p>
<p>
“Why, child, that might do! I did not
think of that; yet I like not to send you out
again so late.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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——”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227'></a>227</span>
clothes which he should don, and so arrayed
come back to the cottage.
</p>
<p>
“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!”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
She bundled up one of her frocks hastily,
saying as she gave it to the girl:
</p>
<p>
“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——”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228'></a>228</span>
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“But I shall be,” answered the nurse with
a sigh. “Not only anent Fairfax but you
also.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229'></a>229</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
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:
</p>
<p>
“Friend Fairfax!”
</p>
<p>
“Mistress Peggy!” Fairfax Johnson rose
slowly from the copse near the grove, and
came toward her.
</p>
<p>
“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!”
</p>
<p>
The youth took the bundle silently, and retired
a short distance from her. The clouds
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230'></a>230</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“’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?”
</p>
<p>
“Why, because the Marquis de Lafayette
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231'></a>231</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“So this is your trysting place,” he said
glancing about the grove. “Upon my word
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232'></a>232</span>
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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“Thee has,” answered she with spirit.
“But then I pleaded with an American
officer, a gallant and brave man. Now——”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233'></a>233</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“I would rather he had taken me prisoner,”
observed the lad gloomily.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
He followed her awkwardly. They reached
the cottage without further molestation, and
entered it unobserved.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234'></a>234</span><a name='chXIX' id='chXIX'></a>CHAPTER XIX—HARRIET AT LAST</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“Awake on your hills, on your islands awake,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Brave sons of the mountain, the frith, and the lake.</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Be the brand of each chieftain like Fin’s in his ire.</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>May the blood through his veins flow like currents of fire.</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Burst the base foreign yoke as your sires did of yore,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Or die like your sires, and endure it no more.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—“Battle Song,” <i>Scott.</i></p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235'></a>235</span>
that want, stark and gaunt, might not be
added to other foes.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
An empty treasury, a scarcity of arms, a
formidable combination to oppose in the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236'></a>236</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“And so thee is going back to the army?”
she asked. “Is thee sure that thee is strong
enough?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237'></a>237</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“I am sorry that I cannot relieve thy uneasiness,”
Peggy made answer. “It is not in
my power to do so, Clifford.”
</p>
<p>
“I am uneasy,” he admitted, sitting upright.
“Sometimes I am minded to set forth
to see what hath become of her.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy looked at him with quick eagerness.
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“You want to go home?” he asserted.
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238'></a>238</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“‘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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
The lad laughed.
</p>
<p>
“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——”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239'></a>239</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“’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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240'></a>240</span>
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241'></a>241</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
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.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242'></a>242</span>
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
A cry of amazement broke from her lips as
the girl drew near. For the maiden was
Harriet Owen on her horse, Fleetwood.
</p>
<p>
Harriet herself, blooming and beautiful!
Harriet, in joseph of green, with a gay plume
of the same color nodding from her hat, smiling and
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243'></a>243</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“Harriet,” she called.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“Well, Peggy?” she said smilingly.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244'></a>244</span><a name='chXX' id='chXX'></a>CHAPTER XX—VINDICATED</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“’Tis just that I should vindicate alone</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>The broken truce, or for the breach atone.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>Dryden.</i></p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245'></a>245</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Did thee in truth think of me?” asked
Peggy wistfully. “With all that pleasuring
I wonder that thee had time.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246'></a>246</span>
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“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!”
</p>
<p>
She made a little rush forward with outstretched
arms as she caught sight of her
brother, crying joyously:
</p>
<p>
“Clifford! Clifford!”
</p>
<p>
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.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247'></a>247</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“Loyal?” questioned Harriet wonderingly.
“Why, of course I’m loyal. What else could
I be?”
</p>
<p>
“And that Yankee captain? The one to
whom you gave that shirt?”
</p>
<p>
“The Yankee captain?” A puzzled look
flashed across Harriet’s face. “Oh! do you
mean John Drayton? Well, what about
him?”
</p>
<p>
“Is he not favored by you?” queried Clifford,
a light beginning to glow on his countenance.
</p>
<p>
“Favored by me? John Drayton!” Harriet’s lip curled
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248'></a>248</span>
in disdain. “What nonsense
is this, Cliff? I dislike John Drayton extremely.
Didn’t Peggy tell you?”
</p>
<p>
“Then come,” he said opening his arms.
</p>
<p>
“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——”
</p>
<p>
“Have you been in New York?” he interrupted.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249'></a>249</span>
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250'></a>250</span>
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“You, Harriet! A spy?” he cried aghast.
“Not you, Harriet?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251'></a>251</span>
the hospital windows. An owl hooted in a
near-by walnut tree. Peggy rose suddenly.
</p>
<p>
“We should not stay here,” she said.
“Clifford is no longer an invalid, ’tis true;
still he should not remain out in the dew.”
</p>
<p>
“I have scarcely begun to talk,” demurred
Harriet. “I think I should know what will
suit my own brother, Peggy.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252'></a>252</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“No; she hath not told me,” he answered.
“She hath been remiss in this at least, Harriet.
Now——”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Very well,” was Peggy’s amused response.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253'></a>253</span>
“But I have somewhat to tell thee also. Wilt
promise to let me talk part of the time?”
</p>
<p>
“Don’t be a goose,” said Harriet giving her
a little squeeze. “I have something important
to tell you.”
</p>
<p>
“Then come in,” said Peggy, opening the
door.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254'></a>254</span><a name='chXXI' id='chXXI'></a>CHAPTER XXI—A RASH RESOLVE</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“How much the heart may bear, and yet not break!</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>How much the flesh may suffer and not die!</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>I question much if any pain or ache</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Of soul or body brings our end more nigh:</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Death chooses his own time; till that is sworn,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>    All evils may be borne.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>Elizabeth Akers Allen.</i></p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
“Has thee had any news of the army lately,
friend nurse?” questioned Peggy one morning
a week after Harriet’s arrival.
</p>
<p>
Nurse Johnson glanced quickly about to
make sure that they were alone before she
replied:
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255'></a>255</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“How dreadful a thing war is!” sighed
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256'></a>256</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257'></a>257</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“’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!”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“I am going to the college to see the
museum of natural history, Harriet. Will
thee come with me?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Well, if thee won’t come,” and Peggy tied
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258'></a>258</span>
the ribbons of her leghorn hat under her chin,
“thee must not mind if I go.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Is thy father with Lord Cornwallis?”
asked Peggy quickly.
</p>
<p>
“Of course, Peggy. The Welsh Fusileers
always stay with him. When we left him at
Camden he was to join Cornwallis, you remember.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” assented Peggy absently, “but I had
forgot for the moment.”
</p>
<p>
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,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259'></a>259</span>
she thought, a way would be
opened for her to proceed to Philadelphia.
</p>
<p>
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?
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“I bid you good-morrow, little cousin,”
spoke a voice pleasantly, and Peggy started to
find Clifford beside her.
</p>
<p>
The lad smiled at the glance of surprise that
Peggy gave at his mode of address, and continued:
</p>
<p>
“I thought you had deserted me entirely.
Was care of me so irksome that you are glad
to be rid of me?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260'></a>260</span>
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261'></a>261</span>
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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262'></a>262</span>
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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!”
</p>
<p>
“’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.”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263'></a>263</span>
should be a prisoner as thee would be in
Philadelphia. I could not bear it.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264'></a>264</span>
Clifford, for thy thought of me; but thee
must give o’er anything that hath New York
for its end and aim.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“’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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265'></a>265</span>
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266'></a>266</span><a name='chXXII' id='chXXII'></a>CHAPTER XXII—FOR LOVE OF COUNTRY</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“Our country’s welfare is our first concern:</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>He who promotes that best, best proves his duty.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>Harvard’s Regulus.</i></p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267'></a>267</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268'></a>268</span>
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269'></a>269</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“Methinks ’twould be the part of wisdom
to bait ourselves there, Star,” she said musingly.
“I think we will take an hour’s
rest.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270'></a>270</span>
</p>
<p>
With that she turned into the shady lane,
and soon drew rein in front of the house.
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“But the British have not yet crossed the
James,” answered Peggy cheerfully.
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“I did not know,” answered the maiden
paling. “Why, I am going through Hanover
Court House myself. I want to reach Fredericksburg
to-night.”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271'></a>271</span>
a daughter of mine abroad at such a time.
Where are you from?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“What became of him?” asked Peggy interested on the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272'></a>272</span>
instant. “I hope the British
did not get him.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273'></a>273</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“’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!”
</p>
<p>
“Why, ’tis Mistress Peggy!” exclaimed the
young fellow, sitting up quickly, a deep flush
dyeing his face. “How, how did you get
here?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“I know,” replied Peggy, surprised by this
speech from Fairfax. It was the longest he
had ever made her. “Or rather I didn’t
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274'></a>274</span>
know, Friend Fairfax, else I would not be
here. And how does thee do? I am to help
care for thee.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“Oh!” uttered Fairfax in such evident dismay
that Peggy found it impossible to suppress
the ripple of laughter that rose to her
lips.
</p>
<p>
“I shall tell thee all about thy mother
while thee eats,” she said arranging the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275'></a>275</span>
viands before him temptingly. “Thy mother
is worried anent thee, friend, but she herself
is well. She——”
</p>
<p>
“Listen,” he said abruptly.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“’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.”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis Tarleton with his dragoons,” he exclaimed
hastening to the window for a view
of them.
</p>
<p>
“Then thee must hide,” ejaculated Peggy.
“Quickly! They may search the place.
Hurry, friend!”
</p>
<p>
“But you,” he said, making no move
toward secreting himself.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
So insistent was she that the lad found
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276'></a>276</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy had scarcely gained the seclusion of
the room ere the British cavalry dashed up.
</p>
<p>
“In the name of the king, dinner,” called
Colonel Tarleton, loudly.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
A great laugh greeted this sally as the
troopers dismounted, tying their horses to
trees, or fences as was convenient.
</p>
<p>
“Get us what you have, my good woman,
and be quick about it,” Tarleton cried in answer. “We’ve
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277'></a>277</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
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:
</p>
<p>
“Will it be possible for us to reach Charlottesville
to-night, colonel?”
</p>
<p>
“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:
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
The girl wrung her hands as she listened.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278'></a>278</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“If I but knew where Charlottesville is,”
cried the girl anguished by her helplessness.
“What shall be done? Oh, I’ll ask Fairfax.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“Friend Fairfax,” she called.
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” answered the lad rising from behind
the boxes.
</p>
<p>
“Colonel Tarleton is after the Assembly at
Charlottesville. He wants especially to capture
the governor and Patrick Henry.”
</p>
<p>
“Why, they’ll hang them if they do,” cried
Fairfax excitedly. “How do you know, Mistress
Peggy?”
</p>
<p>
“I heard him say so,” answered Peggy.
“Friend, what shall we do? They should be
warned.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279'></a>279</span>
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” he answered. “That is what I
must do.”
</p>
<p>
“Thee?” she cried, amazed. “Why, thee
is weak and sick, Friend Fairfax. Thee cannot
go.”
</p>
<p>
“I must. Oh,” he groaned. “If I but had
a horse. If I but had a horse I could get to
Charlottesville before them.”
</p>
<p>
“It might cost thee thy life,” the girl reminded
him. “Thee is too ill to go.”
</p>
<p>
“What am I but one among many?” he
said. “I must try to steal one of their horses.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280'></a>280</span><a name='chXXIII' id='chXXIII'></a>CHAPTER XXIII—A QUESTION OF COURAGE</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“What makes a hero?—An heroic mind,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Express’d in action, in endurance prov’d.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>Sir Henry Taylor.</i></p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“This is folly,” she exclaimed. “Boy,
don’t you know that Tarleton’s troopers are
outside?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“We are going through the window of
thy room to the grove where my horse is
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281'></a>281</span>
while thee gives them dinner,” explained the
maiden.
</p>
<p>
“Why, child, that won’t do at all. They
will leave a guard outside, of course. You
could not pass them. Let me think.”
</p>
<p>
For a brief second she meditated while the
boy and the girl waited hopefully.
</p>
<p>
“Are you able to do this?” she asked presently
of Fairfax.
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” he answered. “Only devise some
way for me to leave quickly. Every moment
is precious.”
</p>
<p>
“You are right,” she replied. “Now just
a minute.”
</p>
<p>
She left the room, returning almost immediately
with two flowered frocks of osnaburg,
and two enormous kerchiefs of the same stuff.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282'></a>282</span>
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” he assented sheepishly.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283'></a>283</span>
They might as well have them. The next
gang would take them anyway.” And so on.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“I know,” he answered. “And now good-bye.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“I shall like it,” answered Peggy. “Come,
friend.”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284'></a>284</span>
unfastened the bridle. “It may be the last
time you will see your little mare.”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“Friend Fairfax,” she said, “thee is so
brave. Yet I have laughed at thee.”
</p>
<p>
“Brave? No,” he responded. “’Tis duty.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
Over his face the red blood ran. He sat
for the briefest second regarding her with a
puzzled air.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285'></a>285</span>
</p>
<p>
The words were scarcely uttered before he
was gone.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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:
</p>
<p>
“‘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.’
</p>
<p>
“Won’t the girls laugh when I tell them?”
</p>
<p>
It was pleasant under the trees. An oriole
swung from the topmost bough of a large oak
pouring forth a flood of song. Woodpeckers
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286'></a>286</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287'></a>287</span>
boy a good start, so I don’t mind. Do you
think he’ll get through, my dear?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, thee is back, Friend Fairfax! Thee
is back!” she cried delightedly. “And did
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288'></a>288</span>
thee succeed? How tired thee looks! And
Star also!”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
He swayed as though about to fall, then
roused himself.
</p>
<p>
“Look to the mare! She, she needs attention,”
he cried, and fell in an unconscious
heap.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289'></a>289</span><a name='chXXIV' id='chXXIV'></a>CHAPTER XXIV—AN UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“Then each at once his falchion drew,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Each on the ground his scabbard threw,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Each look’d to sun, and stream, and plain,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>As what they ne’er might see again;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Then foot, and point, and eye opposed,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>In dubious strife they darkly closed.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—“Lady of the Lake,” <i>Scott.</i></p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
The youth’s illness soon passed, but there
remained the necessity for rest and nourishment. Rest
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290'></a>290</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
Hither and thither flitted Lafayette, too
weak to suffer even defeat, progressing ever
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291'></a>291</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292'></a>292</span>
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:
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“John! John Drayton!” screamed Peggy
joyfully running forward. “How did thee
get here? I thought thee was in South Carolina.
’Tis Peggy, John.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“’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?”
</p>
<p>
“Nay,” he replied. “I seek his lordship.”
</p>
<p>
“Thee what?” she cried, amazed.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293'></a>293</span>
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“But the cousins, Peggy! The rest can
wait until you tell me what new quidnunc tale
was invented to lure you here.”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“I wish that you and your mother were not
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294'></a>294</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“Would thee have us refuse my kinsman’s
plea?” she asked him. “’Twould have been
inhuman not to respond to such an appeal.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295'></a>295</span>
trouble concerning your welfare. I am amply
able to care for you.”
</p>
<p>
“Clifford!” ejaculated Peggy starting up in
surprise, and confronting the youth, who had
approached them unnoticed.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“So?” remarked Drayton cheerfully. He
had not changed his position, but sat slightly
smiling, eyeing the other youth curiously.
</p>
<p>
“No, sir,” repeated Clifford heatedly. “We
will not trouble you, sir. Further, we can
dispense with your presence immediately.”
</p>
<p>
“That,” observed Drayton shifting his position
to one of more ease, “that, sir, is for
Peggy to decide.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296'></a>296</span>
</p>
<p>
“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——”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“You said a victory, sir,” cried the other
with passion. “Hobkirk’s Hill was a defeat
for the rebels.”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297'></a>297</span>
no longer hold Camden after inflicting
it, and so evacuated that place.”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis false,” raged Clifford Owen. “If
Lord Rawdon held Camden, he still holds it.
He would evacuate no post held by him.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“The planter hath sent two of your trained
generals packing,” retorted Drayton. “The
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298'></a>298</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“Draw and defend yourself,” roared the
English lad, whipping out his sword furiously.
“Such insult can only be wiped out in blood.”
</p>
<p>
“Thou shalt not,” screamed Peggy throwing
herself before him. “Thou shalt not. I
forbid it. ’Twould be murder.”
</p>
<p>
“This is man’s affair, my cousin,” he said
sternly. “Stand aside.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<div><a name='illus309' id='illus309'></a></div>
<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<a name='i007' id='i007'></a>
<img src="images/illus309.jpg" alt="“DRAW AND DEFEND YOURSELF!”" title=""/><br />
<span class='caption'>“DRAW AND DEFEND YOURSELF!”</span>
</div>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299'></a>299</span></div>
<p>
“She is right, sir,” spoke Drayton. “This
is in truth neither time nor place to settle our
differences.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
But Drayton made no motion toward his
sword.
</p>
<p>
“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——”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300'></a>300</span>
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis murder,” she wailed weeping. “Thou
art my dear friend. Clifford is my dear
cousin. Oh, I pray ye both to desist.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
Drayton wheeled, and faced him jauntily.
</p>
<p>
“’Tis pity to keep so much valor waiting,”
he said saluting. “On guard, my friend.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301'></a>301</span><a name='chXXV' id='chXXV'></a>CHAPTER XXV—HER NEAREST RELATIVE</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“In all trade of war no feat</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Is nobler than a brave retreat;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>For those that run away and fly</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Take place at least of the enemy.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>Samuel Butler.</i></p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302'></a>302</span>
than a very much distressed damsel she might
have enjoyed some pretty sword play.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303'></a>303</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“Forbear, John,” shrieked Peggy in horrified
tones. “Thee must not. Is he not helpless?”
</p>
<p>
“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!”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis not the habit of Americans to slay a
disarmed foe, sir. If you are not satisfied,
rise; and have to again.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304'></a>304</span>
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“My sword, Peggy,” exclaimed Clifford,
rising, and stepping toward her.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
Drayton sheathed his sword on the moment.
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“As to our quarrel,” replied Drayton, regarding
him fixedly, “perchance the whirligig
of time will bring a more suitable occasion
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305'></a>305</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“Listen to my plan,” she said. “Ye
both——”
</p>
<p>
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;
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306'></a>306</span>
all sounds denoting the passing
of a large force of armed men.
</p>
<p>
With a sharp cry of exultation Clifford
Owen sprang toward John Drayton.
</p>
<p>
“’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!”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“Did you call, sir?” called one, saluting as
he saw the uniform of the young man.
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307'></a>307</span>
pass on to Hanover Court House. I found no
place where he would fare so well as at Tilghman’s
Ordinary.”
</p>
<p>
“’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?”
</p>
<p>
“My own little mare is there, Clifford,”
spoke Peggy indignantly.
</p>
<p>
“Which we will bring ourselves, men,” he
said dismissing them with a curt nod. “You
will wish to ride her, of course, my cousin.”
</p>
<p>
“If I go with you,” she answered.
</p>
<p>
“There is no ‘if’ about it,” he said grimly.
“You are going.”
</p>
<p>
“‘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?”
</p>
<p>
“I do not,” he made answer.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308'></a>308</span>
</p>
<p>
“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——”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“If he is your friend ’tis no reason why he
should address you so familiarly. I like it
not.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309'></a>309</span>
</p>
<p>
“I think thee has made that remark upon
divers occasions, my cousin. Is not thy father
with Lord Cornwallis?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, of course. Why?”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“And was solicitude not shown for thee
also? Thou art unjust, Clifford.”
</p>
<p>
With crestfallen air the youth led Star
from the rude stable, and without further conversation
they started for the house.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310'></a>310</span><a name='chXXVI' id='chXXVI'></a>CHAPTER XXVI—TIDE-WATER AGAIN</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“Now all is gone! the stallion made a prey,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>The few brood mares, and oxen swept away;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>The Lares,—if the household shrine possessed</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>One little god that pleased above the rest;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Mean spoils indeed!”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—“Juvenal,” <i>8th Satire</i>.</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“They are leaving nothing, absolutely
nothing,” she whispered. “How we shall
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311'></a>311</span>
sustain life, if that is left us, is a problem I
dare not face. They found the cows.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh,” breathed Peggy. “What shall thee
do? And Fairfax?”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“Why, how did thee know ’twas my
cousin?” queried Peggy in surprise.
</p>
<p>
“’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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312'></a>312</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“’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.”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313'></a>313</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“I will do so gladly, madam, if she will but
go with me,” he returned. “Will you come,
my cousin?”
</p>
<p>
“I must, Clifford,” answered Peggy, striving
for composure. “There seems naught else
for me to do. Mrs. Weston thinks it the
wisest course.”
</p>
<p>
“I thank you, madam,” he said bowing
courteously. “And I pray you believe me
when I say that this plundering and burning
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314'></a>314</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“For those words, Clifford, I will forgive
thee everything,” exclaimed the overwrought
girl.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315'></a>315</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316'></a>316</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_317'></a>317</span>
</p>
<p>
“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!”
</p>
<p>
“Yes. And I’ll warrant because of that
you consider him better looking than his
father,” said Colonel Owen laughing heartily.
</p>
<p>
“But father hath uncommon good looks,”
answered she. “And thee does resemble him
to some extent.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_318'></a>318</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
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,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_319'></a>319</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“I am so tired, Clifford,” she said wearily
when the lad came to her as the army entered
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_320'></a>320</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_321'></a>321</span><a name='chXXVII' id='chXXVII'></a>CHAPTER XXVII—PEGGY RECEIVES A SHOCK</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“Chains are round our country pressed,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  And cowards have betrayed her,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>And we must make her bleeding breast</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>  The grave of the invader.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>Bryant.</i></p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“I was trying to get home,” answered
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_322'></a>322</span>
Peggy, forgetting her weariness in admiration
of her cousin’s beauty, and wondering also at
her light-heartedness.
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“She does indeed look tired,” remarked
Harriet glancing at Peggy critically. “Come
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_323'></a>323</span>
on, Peggy. I’ll take you to our room. ’Tis
much larger than the one we shared at Nurse
Johnson’s.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_324'></a>324</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_325'></a>325</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
Thus chiding herself she reached the drawing-room
where Colonel Owen sat with his son
and daughter.
</p>
<p>
“’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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_326'></a>326</span>
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!”
</p>
<p>
“And what do you think, Peggy?” exclaimed
Harriet before Peggy could make
reply to her cousin. “Your old friend——”
</p>
<p>
“Harriet,” interrupted Clifford warningly.
“We agreed not to speak of that.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“No,” he told her kindly. “None of these
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_327'></a>327</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” she replied. “I will not stay long,
Clifford.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_328'></a>328</span>
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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!”
</p>
<p>
For as she turned from shutting the gate
she came face to face with John Drayton.
</p>
<p>
“Is thee mad,” she cried, “to venture here
like this? ’Tis certain death, John.”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
Peggy’s glance swept him from head to foot.
He was clad in the uniform of a British officer,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_329'></a>329</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“What doth it mean?” she whispered, all
her apprehension and doubt contained in the
query.
</p>
<p>
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:
</p>
<p>
“What doth such a thing usually mean,
Peggy?”
</p>
<p>
“Not, not that, John,” she cried piteously.
“Thee can’t mean what that uniform says.
Thee can’t mean that, John?”
</p>
<p>
“Just that,” he answered tersely.
</p>
<p>
With a low cry she shrank from him, her
eyes wide with horror.
</p>
<p>
“A deserter! Thou?” she breathed.
</p>
<p>
“Even I, Peggy.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_330'></a>330</span>
</p>
<p>
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:
</p>
<p>
“But why? Why?”
</p>
<p>
“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.’”
</p>
<p>
“And is that all thy reason?”
</p>
<p>
“Is it not reason enough, Peggy?”
</p>
<p>
“No,” she cried passionately. “It is not.
Oh, I see it all! Thee has heard from General
Arnold.”
</p>
<p>
“Why should you think that?” Drayton
regarded her queerly. “What would hearing
from him have to do with my desertion?”
</p>
<p>
“Everything,” she answered wildly. “He
hath wooed thee from thy allegiance, as he
said he would. ’Twas on this very spot that
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_331'></a>331</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“That was under Greene,” he made answer.
“He is not a frog-eating Frenchman.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“Don’t, Peggy,” he pleaded. “It—it
hurts.”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_332'></a>332</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
Drayton adjusted his neck ruffles, and swallowed
hard.
</p>
<p>
“Peggy,” he said. “Peggy——” and
paused.
</p>
<p>
“I think my heart will break,” she sobbed;
and with that last cry she left him standing
there.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_333'></a>333</span><a name='chXXVIII' id='chXXVIII'></a>CHAPTER XXVIII—VERIFIED SUSPICIONS</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“The way is long, my children, long and rough,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>The moors are dreary, the woods are dark;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>But he that creeps from cradle on to grave,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Unskil’d save in the velvet course of fortune,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Hath miss’d the discipline of noble hearts.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>Old Play.</i></p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
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!
</p>
<p>
Many patriots, she knew, had come to consider
the American cause hopeless; many of
the best men were weary of the long war;
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_334'></a>334</span>
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?
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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:
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“She hath seen the Yankee captain,” exclaimed Clifford
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_335'></a>335</span>
joining them. “Is not that
the trouble, my cousin?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” assented Peggy drearily. “I saw
him, Clifford. Oh!” with sudden enlightenment,
“was his desertion what thee was keeping
from me?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Peggy,” said her cousin abruptly, “you
talked with him, did you not?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, Clifford.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“No,” she returned apathetically. “No,
Clifford.”
</p>
<p>
“Ah!” he cried triumphantly. “I thought
so. You think with me, then, my little cousin,
that the fellow is a spy?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_336'></a>336</span>
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“He isn’t worth a thought, Peggy,” she
cried. “And what else could you expect
from John Drayton?”
</p>
<p>
“She speaks truth, my cousin,” said Clifford.
“Desertions occur daily from both
sides. Those who are guilty of them are not
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_337'></a>337</span>
persons actuated by the highest motives. I
would think no more of it.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“Tell her how it occurred, Cliff,” suggested
Harriet. “She might just as well know all
about it.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, tell me,” said Peggy looking up
through her tears. “I want to know everything
to see if aught can justify him.”
</p>
<p>
“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.’
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_338'></a>338</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“I thank thee for telling me about it, Clifford,”
said Peggy. “I think I will go to my
room. I—I am tired.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_339'></a>339</span>
wondering dully at this one morning, a few
days later, as she went down to breakfast.
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
Colonel Owen looked up from his place at
the head of the table and regarded the maiden
disapprovingly.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Where, father?” asked Harriet in surprise.
“Is ‘t not a sudden determination on
his lordship’s part?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_340'></a>340</span>
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Must we go, father?” pouted Harriet,
“Could you not get leave of absence, and
continue here? We are so comfortable.”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_341'></a>341</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
Yorktown was not much more than a village.
It had been an emporium of trade
before the Revolution, while Williamsburg
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_342'></a>342</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“I have already told him how I feel anent
the matter,” answered Peggy with a sigh.
“There is no more to be said.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_343'></a>343</span>
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Treachery never seems amusing to me,”
remarked Peggy quietly.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“’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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_344'></a>344</span>
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Harriet!” gasped Peggy. “Why did
he?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh!” said Peggy in pained tones.
“Would that he had not asked him. ’Twas
thoughtless in Cousin William.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
To her surprise only Colonel Owen and
Harriet were in the drawing-room. There was
no sign either of Clifford, or of John Drayton.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_345'></a>345</span>
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
Before Peggy could reply the door was flung
open, and Clifford dashed into the room.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Clifford, what do you mean?” cried his
sister. Peggy did not speak, but stood waiting
his next words with feverish eagerness, her
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_346'></a>346</span>
breath coming quickly, her eyes dilated, her
hands clasped tightly.
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Clifford!” shrieked Peggy. “What does
thee mean?”
</p>
<p>
“That because he is a spy,” cried Clifford,
“he is condemned to die at sunrise.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_347'></a>347</span><a name='chXXIX' id='chXXIX'></a>CHAPTER XXIX—“I SHALL NOT SAY GOOD-BYE”</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“How beautiful is death when earned by virtue!</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Who would not sleep with those? What pity is it</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>That we can die but once to save our country.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>Addison’s Cato.</i></p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_348'></a>348</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_349'></a>349</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“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!”
</p>
<p>
“And he is in your charge, Cliff?” asked
Harriet. “My, but you are coming on!
Father will have to look to his laurels.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_350'></a>350</span>
Even Lord Cornwallis could not see him without
first coming to me. Oh, I have provided
well against any miscarriage of justice.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_351'></a>351</span>
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“’Twould be inhuman not to permit it,
Clifford. ’Tis not justice thee seeks, but the
gratifying of thine own rancor toward him.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Captain Williams needs no instructions
as to his duty, sir,” returned Clifford hotly.
</p>
<p>
Colonel Owen laughed and shrugged his
shoulders.
</p>
<p>
“I had forgot,” he said ironically. “I cry
you pardon. Captain Williams, of course, is
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_352'></a>352</span>
conversant with the entire code of civilized
warfare. I shall say no more.” He arose and
left the apartment.
</p>
<p>
“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!”
</p>
<p>
“Say no more,” he cried harshly. “I will
not permit it.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“No,” he responded inexorably. “Where
are you going?” he asked abruptly as the
girl turned from him with determination
written on her countenance.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_353'></a>353</span>
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Thank thee, Clifford. ’Tis all I ask,” she
said sorrowfully. “When will thee take me
to him?”
</p>
<p>
“So long as it has to be, it might as well
be now,” he told her sulkily. “Are you
ready?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, Clifford.”
</p>
<p>
“And the dinner, good people?” broke in
Harriet. “Am I not to be pleasured by your
company?”
</p>
<p>
“The dinner can wait,” exclaimed her
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_354'></a>354</span>
brother shortly. “We’ll get this business
over with.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<div><a name='illus367' id='illus367'></a></div>
<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<a name='i008' id='i008'></a>
<img src="images/illus367.jpg" alt="SHE STEPPED INTO THE ROOM" title=""/><br />
<span class='caption'>SHE STEPPED INTO THE ROOM</span>
</div>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_355'></a>355</span></div>
<p>
“You shall have just one hour,” said the
youth, unlocking the door. “I shall call
when ’tis time.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“John,” she uttered softly.
</p>
<p>
The youth sprang to his feet with an exclamation
of gladness.
</p>
<p>
“Peggy,” he cried. “Oh, I did not hope
for this.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_356'></a>356</span>
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“’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.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Why didn’t thee tell me, John?”
</p>
<p>
“For two reasons: First, the redcoats
swarmed about us, and ’twould not have
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_357'></a>357</span>
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,
</p>
<p>
Peggy choked.
</p>
<p>
“I ought to have known, John. I shall
never forgive myself that I did not know.
Was it necessary for thee to come?”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_358'></a>358</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“But to die?” she gasped.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Thee must not die, John,” she cried in
agonized tones. “Is there no way? No
way?”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_359'></a>359</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_360'></a>360</span>
fleet comes, the end of the war comes with it.
Ah, Peggy! if it comes.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“And how shall I bear it?” she cried.
</p>
<p>
“’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,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_361'></a>361</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“Peggy!” came Clifford’s voice from without
the door. “Time’s up!”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, John,” whispered Peggy, white and
shaken. “I can’t say good-bye. I can’t——”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“You will best say good-bye while you
can, Sir Captain,” growled Clifford. “You
will never have another chance. Come, my
cousin.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_362'></a>362</span><a name='chXXX' id='chXXX'></a>CHAPTER XXX—WHAT THE NIGHT BROUGHT</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“’Tis liberty alone that gives the flower</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Of fleeting life its luster and perfume,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>And we are weeds without it.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—“The Task,” <i>Cowper</i>.</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
“Who is the relief for to-night?” queried
Clifford of the guard as he closed and locked
the door of the hut.
</p>
<p>
“Samuels, sir,” responded the soldier saluting.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_363'></a>363</span>
girl went straight to the room which she and
Harriet occupied in common.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“There is to be company for tea, Peggy,”
she said. “Two officers. Will you come
down?”
</p>
<p>
“No,” answered Peggy sinking into a chair.
“I would rather not, Harriet.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“No, I thank thee, Harriet.” The maiden
leaned her head upon her hand drearily.
The world seemed very dark just then.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
And at this unlooked-for sympathy on Harriet’s
part Peggy broke into sudden, bitter
weeping.
</p>
<p>
“He is to die,” she cried. “There is no
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_364'></a>364</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_365'></a>365</span>
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?”
</p>
<p>
As the girl began to speak Peggy ceased
her weeping, pushed back her hair, and
presently sat upright regarding her with
amazement.
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” she almost gasped as her cousin
paused. “Yes, Harriet; I was in very truth
thinking of those things.”
</p>
<p>
“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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_366'></a>366</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“I would not be so sure of that and I were
you,” observed Harriet quietly.
</p>
<p>
“Harriet! What does thee mean?” cried
Peggy, her breath coming quickly.
</p>
<p>
“Peggy, I told you once that some time I
should do something that would repay all
your favors, did I not?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes.” Peggy’s eyes questioned her cousin’s
eagerly.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_367'></a>367</span>
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“Harriet, tell me. Tell me!” Peggy’s
arms were about her in a tight embrace.
“Thee knows, Harriet.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Don’t be so sure, Mistress Peggy,” came
from Harriet with such an abrupt change of
voice that Peggy was startled.
</p>
<p>
“That sounded just like Clifford,” she said.
</p>
<p>
“Certainly it did.” Harriet’s eyes were
sparkling now. “I can do Clifford to the
life. I can deceive even father if the light
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_368'></a>368</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“But,” objected Peggy with some excitement,
“Clifford will be there on guard. Then
how can thee represent him?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_369'></a>369</span>
</p>
<p>
“But I see not——” began Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
The girl spoke with such an assumption of
her brother’s pompous air that Peggy laughed
tremulously.
</p>
<p>
“I do believe that thee can do it,” she cried.
“Harriet, thee is wonderful!”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“If Clifford goes to bed early the thing can
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_370'></a>370</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
With trembling fingers Peggy unfastened
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_371'></a>371</span>
her frock, and soon Harriet stood before her
arrayed in the uniform of a British officer.
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
“I did not know that thee was so like him,”
murmured Peggy. “But thine eyes, Harriet.
Clifford hath never such eyes as thine.”
</p>
<p>
“’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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
It was dark, as the girl had said. Only the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_372'></a>372</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“Wait here,” she whispered. Peggy, in a
quick gush of tenderness, threw her arms
about her.
</p>
<p>
“If aught should happen to thee,” she murmured
apprehensively.
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
In an intensity of anxiety and expectation
Peggy waited. On the still air of the summer
night Harriet’s voice sounded sharply incisive
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_373'></a>373</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“A bit early, aren’t you, sir?” came the
voice of the guard.
</p>
<p>
“I think not, Samuels,” replied the pseudo
Captain Williams in his loftiest manner, and
with a sly chuckle the guard saluted and
walked away.
</p>
<p>
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.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_374'></a>374</span>
</p>
<p>
Soon Peggy felt her hand caught softly.
</p>
<p>
“John,” she breathed.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“’Twas Harriet,” she told him. “She
wears Clifford’s uniform.”
</p>
<p>
“Harriet!” Drayton’s whisper expressed
the most intense astonishment. “Harriet!”
And even as he spoke the name she stood beside
them.
</p>
<p>
“Come,” she said. They glided after her,
pausing only when they had reached a safe
distance from the hut.
</p>
<p>
“We must not stop to talk,” said the English
girl in peremptory tones. “Captain
Drayton, you will have to depend upon yourself
now.”
</p>
<p>
“Gladly,” he responded having recovered
from his amazement by this time. “How can
I thank you, Mistress Harriet? I——”
</p>
<p>
“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!”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_375'></a>375</span>
</p>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_376'></a>376</span><a name='chXXXI' id='chXXXI'></a>CHAPTER XXXI—THE DAWN OF THE MORNING</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“What is that which the breeze, o’er the towering steep,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses?</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>In full glory reflected now shines on the stream;</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>’Tis the star-spangled banner; O long may it wave</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—<i>Francis Scott Key.</i></p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“Hurrah! the foes are moving. Hark to the mingled din</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin!</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Charge for the golden lilies now—upon them with the lance!”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—“The Battle of Ivry,” <i>Macaulay</i>.</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_377'></a>377</span>
naught was to be learned until morning, Harriet
dropped into slumber. Not so Peggy.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_378'></a>378</span>
had reached this point in her musings when
the voice of Colonel Owen startled her:
</p>
<p>
“You are up early, my little cousin. I
feared that you would not sleep.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” answered she gently, touched by his
thought of her.
</p>
<p>
“We shall have just time to reach the
point,” he said leading the way to the gate,
“but there will be need for haste.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_379'></a>379</span>
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“Peggy, I did not think,” he exclaimed
with contrition. “I forgot that we should
pass by the place.”
</p>
<p>
“It doth not matter,” she returned so cheerfully
that his face brightened. “Shall we go
on, Cousin William?”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_380'></a>380</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“The French fleet,” burst from Peggy’s lips
involuntarily.
</p>
<p>
“The French fleet! Nonsense! Girl, why
do you say that?” exclaimed her cousin.
“What reason have you for thinking them
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_381'></a>381</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
Peggy began to tremble as Drayton’s words
came to her.
</p>
<p>
“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?
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“There is a fourth vessel coming,” remarked
Colonel Owen presently. “A frigate this time.
The others were ships of the line. We must
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_382'></a>382</span>
go back, Peggy. My Lord Cornwallis should
know of this arrival.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“The English fleet, I make no doubt,” remarked
Harriet carelessly. “I think it hath
been expected. Did’st see anything of Clifford?”
</p>
<p>
“No.” A perplexed look shadowed Peggy’s
face. “Nor did I hear a word anent the
escape, Harriet. The hut was closed, and
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_383'></a>383</span>
there was no sentry about it. ’Tis strange
that we have heard naught regarding the
matter. Would that Clifford would come.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, I will take the tea, Harriet,” said the
youth drearily. “Make it strong, my sister.
Everything hath gone awry. That Yankee
captain escaped.”
</p>
<p>
“Escaped?” Harriet brought him the tea,
which he quaffed eagerly. “Tell us about it,
Clifford. How did it happen?”
</p>
<p>
“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,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_384'></a>384</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“Then he did escape, Clifford?” questioned
Peggy eagerly.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_385'></a>385</span>
</p>
<p>
“Why should the coming of the French
fleet be of such consequence?” queried Harriet.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Peggy, just what do you mean?” demanded
Colonel Owen sharply.
</p>
<p>
“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?”
</p>
<p>
“‘Fore George, they would!” ejaculated
the colonel. “At least they should try. By
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_386'></a>386</span>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“Don’t, Cousin William,” cried Peggy.
“’Tis not my wisdom at all. I but repeat
what I have heard.”
</p>
<p>
“’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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
The days that ensued were days of anxiety.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_387'></a>387</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_388'></a>388</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
On the afternoon of the eighth of October
Peggy and Harriet sat on the small portico of
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_389'></a>389</span>
the dwelling listening to the cannonading
which had been going on all day from the
British works.
</p>
<p>
“Harriet,” spoke Peggy abruptly, “does
thee remember that father is outside there
with the army?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Peggy,” gasped her cousin. “How
dreadful! Suppose that father, or Clifford,
should hurt him? Wouldn’t it be awful?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” assented Peggy paling. “Or if he
should hurt them.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
As if to confirm her words there came at
this moment a deafening crash, a tearing,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_390'></a>390</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
In the midst of the commotion Clifford
came running.
</p>
<p>
“Get to the caves,” he shouted. “Ye must
not stay here.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“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.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_391'></a>391</span>
</p>
<p>
“And leave me alone, Peggy?” cried
Harriet in dismay. “Oh, you would not!”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Then ye must go over to Gloucester Point,”
cried the lad. “’Tis said that all the women
and children are to be sent there.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_392'></a>392</span>
allies. The first parallel<a name="FNanchor_7" id="FNanchor_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor"><sup>[7]</sup></a> of
the Americans was opened and passed.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_393'></a>393</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, this awful war! This awful war!”
shrieked Harriet suddenly. “I shall go mad,
Peggy.”
</p>
<p>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“At first,” sobbed Harriet, “I thought I
could not bear for the British to be beaten;
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_394'></a>394</span>
but now if only father and Clifford are spared,
I care not.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“Harriet,” he cried, flinging himself on the
ground with a sob, “it’s all over! They are
beating the parley.”
</p>
<hr class='fnsep' />
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7" id="Footnote_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a>
Parallel—a line of entrenchments parallel to those of the British.
</p></div>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_395'></a>395</span><a name='chXXXII' id='chXXXII'></a>CHAPTER XXXII—“LIGHTS OUT”</h2>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>“Oh! these were hours when thrilling joy repaid</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>A long, long course of darkness, doubts, and fears—</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>The heartsick faintness of the hope delay’d,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>The waste, the woe, the bloodshed, and the tears,</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>That tracked with terror six long rolling years.”</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:right'>—“Lord of the Isles,” <i>Scott.</i></p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“What doth that mean?” exclaimed Harriet.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“Blame him not, Clifford,” said Harriet.
“He hath made a brave defense. For my
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_396'></a>396</span>
part, I am thankful that ’tis over. Have you
seen father?”
</p>
<p>
“No,” answered the youth. “Not since
yesterday.”
</p>
<p>
“Then let us find him,” suggested she.
“’Twill be a relief to get out of this cave.
Come, Peggy!”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“I suppose that you are rejoicing over
our defeat, my little cousin,” he exclaimed
harshly.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_397'></a>397</span>
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“And is it indeed over, as Clifford says,
father?” questioned Harriet.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
He covered his face with his hands and
groaned. Clifford turned upon Peggy with
something of irritation.
</p>
<p>
“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!”
</p>
<p>
“I am not thinking of thee at all,” returned
Peggy wistfully, “but of father.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_398'></a>398</span>
Neither thee nor thy father is hurt, but what
of my father?”
</p>
<p>
“And do you wish to go to him?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” she uttered eagerly.
</p>
<p>
“It can be arranged,” he said. “I will see
to a flag.” As he started to leave them William
Owen looked up.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“So be it,” he said.
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_399'></a>399</span>
approaching, also bearing a flag. At sight of
him Peggy forgot her escort, forgot everything,
and ran forward uttering a cry of gladness.
</p>
<p>
“Father, father!” she screamed.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_400'></a>400</span>
long years, and in his presence she felt as
though there could no longer be trouble.
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
“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.”
</p>
<p>
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.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_401'></a>401</span>
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_402'></a>402</span>
sparkled in its rays. But the girl turned to
view the less attractive Americans.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_403'></a>403</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
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
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_404'></a>404</span>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“And now what shall be done with thee,
lass?” queried David Owen of Peggy.
</p>
<p>
“Let us go home, father,” cried Peggy. “I
am so tired of war and its surroundings. Can
thee not get a leave?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_405'></a>405</span>
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” he said. “To-morrow we will start
for home.”
</p>
<p>
“For home and mother,” cried Peggy joyfully.
</p>
<p>
 <br />
 <br />
 <br />
</p>
<table class='c' summary='centered block'><tr><td>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>The Stories in this Series are:</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'> </p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>PEGGY OWEN</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>PEGGY OWEN, PATRIOT</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>PEGGY OWEN AT YORKTOWN</p>
<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>PEGGY OWEN AND LIBERTY</p>
</td></tr></table>
<p>
 <br />
 <br />
 <br />
</p>
<hr class='tb' />
<p>
LUCY FOSTER MADISON
</p>
<div class='figleft' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<a name='i009' id='i009'></a>
<img src='images/illus421.jpg' alt='' title=''/><br />
</div>
<p>
Mrs. Madison was born in Kirkville, Adair County, Missouri, but
when she was four years old her parents removed to Louisiana,
Missouri, and there her girlhood was spent. She was educated in
the public schools of that place, and graduated from the High
School with the highest honor—the valedictory.
</p>
<p>
As a child she was passionately fond of fairy stories,
dolls and flowers. Up to her eleventh year the book
that influenced her most was “Pilgrim’s Progress.”
Mrs. Madison’s father had a large library filled with
general literature, and she read whatever she thought
interesting. In this way she became acquainted with the
poets, ancient history and the novelists, Dickens and
Scott. It was not until she was twelve that she came
in contact with Miss Alcott’s works, but after that
Joe, Meg, Amy and Beth were her constant companions.
At this time she was also devoted to “Scottish
Chiefs,” “Thaddeus of Warsaw” and “Ivanhoe,” and
always poetry.
</p>
<p>
She doesn’t remember a time when she did not
write. From her earliest childhood she made up little
stories. In school she wrote poems, stories and essays.
When she became a teacher she wrote her own stories
and entertainments for the children’s work.
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Madison’s stories for girls are:
</p>
<p>
Peggy Owen<br />
Peggy Owen, Patriot<br />
Peggy Owen at Yorktown<br />
Peggy Owen and Liberty<br />
A Colonial Maid of Old Virginia<br />
A Daughter of the Union<br />
In Doublet and Hose<br />
A Maid of King Alfred’s Court<br />
A Maid of the First Century<br />
</p>
<pre>
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