“But what is life?’Tis not to stalk about, and draw fresh air,From time to time, or gaze upon the sun;’Tis to be Free. When Liberty is gone,Life grows insipid and has lost its relish.”—Addison’s “Cato.”
“But what is life?’Tis not to stalk about, and draw fresh air,From time to time, or gaze upon the sun;’Tis to be Free. When Liberty is gone,Life grows insipid and has lost its relish.”
—Addison’s “Cato.”
“Is thee nearly ready, Peggy? Robert should be here soon with the wagons.”
“Yes, mother.” Peggy ran to the head of the broad staircase to answer Mrs. Owen’s call. “There are but few more things to pack. Sally is helping me.”
“That is well, my daughter. Only——”
“Only let our fingers work while our tongues fly?” completed the girl merrily. “We will, mother dear. Does thee hear, Sally?”
“I hear,” laughed Sally as Peggy reëntered the chamber. “I think thee is the one to heed, miss. I am as busy as can be.” She worked industriously on the portmanteau for a few moments, and then looked up to say,“I am glad that thee is going to ride Star, Peggy.”
“So am I,” answered Peggy as she donned her riding habit. “Father wrote that there are some excellent roads about Lancaster, and that, as he had a good mount, we might have some fine rides together. It will be quite like old times. I wish thee was going, Sally.”
“Well,” hesitated Sally, “I would like to be with thee, Peggy, but I should not like to leave mother again. I am glad to be home, and quite content to stay here for a time. But I shall miss thee, Peggy. Particularly as Betty is to leave so soon.”
“Betty to leave? Why, where is she going? I had not heard. She was here yesterday, and she said not a word anent going away.” Peggy paused in her dressing, and regarded Sally inquiringly.
“She told me to tell thee, because she could not bear to,” replied Sally, her tears beginning to fall. “Oh, Peggy, our Social Select Circle will soon be no more. Betty is going to marry her Frenchman, and go to France. She said that she would write thee all the particulars.”
“Oh, Sally, Sally! How we shall miss her! Why, how can we get along without her?”
“We can’t.” Sally closed the portmanteau with a vicious snap. “I never did care much for the French alliance, and I think less of it than ever now.”
“Sally, thee won’t do anything of the kind, will thee?” asked Peggy tearfully. “I could not bear for thee to go away.”
“I? Oh, I shall never leave Philadelphia, Peggy. I shall always stay right here, and be a nurse.”
“Dear me! there’s mother calling again,” cried Peggy in dismay. “We have been talking in very truth instead of working. There is so much that I should like to hear about Betty. I think she might have told me. What a belle she hath become, and how pretty she is! So all thy plans for her and Fairfax would have gone awry, had the poor fellow lived!”
“Peggy, does thee think that he really cared for her?”
Peggy’s brows contracted into a thoughtful look.
“I don’t know,” she responded. “He was of a truth much interested when he saw her. She was very sweet that day. It was when Clifford was here, thee remembers?”
“I remember, Peggy. If thee sees thy cousin will thee tell him all about how I came to show Sheriff Will the closet?”
“Yes, Sally. I will.”
“And if thee gets into trouble, and can’t get home, if thee will let me know I’ll come for thee,” said Sally impressively.
Peggy laughed.
“There won’t be any trouble about it this time, Sally. Father and mother are with me, and they will arrange everything.”
“Thy mother is calling again, Peggy. We will have to go down. Be sure to write, and I will keep a journal for thee of Betty’s doings. She is to have so many things from France. Would thee were to be here!”
“I should like to be,” answered Peggy opening the door. “We are coming at last, mother.”
Quite a caravan awaited Peggy’s coming. There were a number of wagons, some containing Continental stores for the military atLancaster; others filled with private property belonging to citizens, and still others which contained household articles which Mrs. Owen was taking for her use. All were under a strong guard. A roomy and comfortable calash had been provided for the lady, in which Peggy was to ride also when she should become tired of the saddle. Robert Dale, with the reins of his own horse thrown over his arm, stood waiting by Star’s side to help Peggy mount.
“We were thinking that we should have to become brigands and carry you off, Peggy,” he remarked as the girls joined them.
“Thee will not wonder that I was delayed when I tell thee the news, Robert,” answered Peggy as, with the youth’s assistance, she vaulted lightly into the saddle. “Oh, Sally, I do wish thee was going!”
“And so do I, Sally,” spoke Robert.
“I should like to be with both of you, but I am glad to be in Philadelphia for a time,” replied Sally. “Tell him about Betty, Peggy.”
They were off at length, going by way of High Street across the Middle Ferry into the Great Lancaster Road. The distance wassomething more than sixty-five miles, and it was the intention to make it by brief stages. The road had formerly been known as the King’s Highway, and was famed for the number of its taverns, which were jestingly said to be as many as its mile-stones. There was, therefore, no difficulty in making each day’s journey as long or short as might be desired.
Peggy felt her spirits rise under the influence of the sunshine, the refreshing fragrance of the morning air, and the ride among scenes of romance and beauty. It was a country of rolling hills and gently sloping vales through which they passed, with occasional rocky dells and low cascades. A country of orchards, meadows, and woodlands; a country of flowing water, salubrious, fertile and wealthy; dotted with a few villages and many fine farms. The road ran incessantly up and down hill through dense woods of oak, hickory, and chestnut. The face of the country seemed like a great rolling sea, and it was no wonder that the girl’s heart grew light as the ride unfolded the pleasing and picturesque landscape to view.
On the afternoon of the third day Peggyand Robert cantered ahead of the party for a short dash, but the road becoming hilly and steep they were obliged to slow their horses down to a walk. The road ascended the North Mountain here rising by three ridges, each steeper than the former. Below them lay the valley, enclosed on the left by the Valley Mountain with all its garland of woods; and by the Welsh mountains on the right. Hills and rocks, waving with the forests of oak and chestnut, bordered the road and, as their leaves rustled to the wind and twinkled in the sun, gave to the depth of solitude a sort of life and vivacity. Peggy had been telling Robert Dale about the attack on Tom’s River, and all the sad details of Fairfax’s death. Following the narrative a silence had fallen between them which was broken abruptly by Peggy.
“Look yonder, Robert! Something hath befallen a wagon, and there seems to be no one near it. To thy right. Does thee not see?”
Major Dale uttered an exclamation as his glance followed Peggy’s index finger.
“You are right, Peggy,” he cried. “Something is amiss there. The wheel hath beenbroken, and the wagon abandoned, yet ’tis full of merchandise. This must be looked into.”
He gave spur to his horse, and dashed forward followed closely by Peggy. A wagon, one of the Conestoga sort, was drawn to one side of the road, and left under a tree. One of the wheels was broken, but there was no sign of horse or driver to be seen, though in truth the vehicle was filled with goods.
“Well, this is a strange proceeding,” mused the young man. “Here we must needs have an armed guard for the safe arrival of our goods, yet this wagon stands on the broad highway unmolested. I’ll take a look at these goods. It may be——”
“Good-morrow, friends,” spoke a soft voice, and from behind some bushes a feminine form arose, whether maid or matron could not be determined at once, so voluminous were her wrappings. Her whole exterior, as well as her speech, showed that she belonged to the Society of Friends.
A long cloak of dark-gray superfine cloth enveloped her form completely. A small bonnet of gray taffeta silk was tied primlywith a demure bow under her chin. It left not a wisp of hair visible. A riding mask covered her face so that only a finely turned chin was to be seen. So suddenly did she appear that both Robert and Peggy were guilty of staring. The youth was the first to recover himself.
“I cry you pardon, mistress,” he said springing from the saddle, and approaching the newcomer. “If this be your wagon, you are in trouble. Are you all alone?”
“And if I am, friend, what is it to thee?” The words as well as the manner of the questioner caused the young man to flush, but he answered promptly:
“A great deal. You are in trouble, and alone upon the highway. I repeat, ’tis a great deal to me, as it would be to any man to find a woman so situated.”
“Thee must give me thy pardon, friend. Methought the query was prompted by idle curiosity. By a great oversight my driver forgot to put his box of tools in the wagon, so that when the accident occurred he was obliged to ride on to the next tavern for help. I doubt not but that he will return soon.”
“But the distance to the next tavern is six miles. It was unwise to leave you here alone upon the road. Do you not know that these highways are not safe?”
“I have seen no one; nor hath any spoke with me before this. I fear naught.”
“But it should not be,” he said with decision. “Peggy, do you think that your mother——”
“Mother would be pleased to offer the friend a seat in the calash, Robert.” Peggy unfastened her riding mask as she spoke, and turned toward the Quakeress warmly. “I am Margaret Owen,” she said. “And this is Major Dale, of the army. My mother is just beyond yon bend of the road in her coach. She will be charmed to have thy company to the next inn, and farther if thee wishes.”
“And I am Truelove Davis,” returned the other, acknowledging the introductions with the briefest of bows. She did not remove her mask, Peggy noted with surprise, but she was conscious that the girl was regarding her intently. “Perchance,” continued the newcomer, “perchance it would not be agreeable to thy mother to do this charity.”
“Nay, it is thou, friend, that dost lack charity, to suppose any one unwilling to do so simple a kindness.” Peggy’s voice reflected her pained amazement. Friends usually accepted such favors with the same simplicity of spirit in which they were offered.
“Nay, I meant no offense, Margaret, I think thee called thyself so. I make no doubt but that thy mother is most gracious.”
“Indeed she is,” said Robert Dale warmly. “I will ride back and explain the matter to her. The wagons should be hurried up a bit, also. I will see to the mending of this wheel, mistress, and send the wagon along with ours. It is most unwise to leave it here with its contents unprotected. Will you come, Peggy?”
“Nay, let the damsel abide with me until thy return,” spoke Truelove Davis quickly.
Robert glanced at Peggy questioningly.
“I will stay, Robert, if the friend wishes it,” said Peggy.
He saluted and remounting his horse sped back down the road. The Quakeress turned toward Peggy mildly.
“Did not the son of Belial call thee Peggy?” she asked.
Peggy felt the slight irritation that had assailed her but a moment since return at this remark, so she answered with dignity:
“Major Dale so called me. All my friends speak of me as Peggy.”
“’Tis pity to spoil so fine a name as Margaret by substituting Peggy for it. I much mislike the practice.”
“I do not,” responded Peggy briefly.
“I fear thee is frivolous, Margaret,” chided the other serenely.
All in a moment Peggy was amused. She reflected that this Friend must come from one of the country districts where observances as to demeanor and dress were much stricter than in the cities. She was, no doubt, conducting herself according to the light that was in her, and with this view of the situation Peggy’s ruffled feelings were soothed.
“I fear so too, Truelove,” she said laughingly. “Quite frivolous. Now thine own name: Did none ever term thee True, or Love? Either would be sweet.”
“Thee must not utter such things,” reprovedthe other in a shocked voice. “’Tis indelicate for maidens to even speak the word love. Where is thee going?”
“To Lancaster, to be with my father, who is stationed there.”
“Stationed there? Is not thy father of the sect of Friends? Thou art using the speech.”
“Yes; but he is in the patriot army, Truelove.”
“Defying those who are set to rule over us? Hath he not been taught to bear meekly that which Providence hath called us to suffer? Where did he learn of Fox to retort violence for violence, or that shedding of blood was justifiable? And does thee hold with these misguided Whigs, Margaret?”
“I do,” answered Peggy shortly. She had dismounted, and was letting her pony graze while she awaited Robert’s return. A slight regret that she had offered to let this Quakeress be her mother’s companion assailed her.
“WHERE IS THEE GOING?”“WHERE IS THEE GOING?”
“And was thee not punished for it?” Truelove Davis was regarding her with a curious steadiness of gaze that Peggy found extremely irksome. If she would but remove that riding mask, she thought, she could talk to her better.“Did the friends bear in silence that thee and thine should depart from their peaceful practices?”
“They read us out of meeting,” replied Peggy controlling herself with difficulty. “Father, nor any of us, did not embrace the Cause of Liberty without due thought. It did seem to us that life was not of worth unless it were accompanied by Freedom. To be free to worship God in our own fashion was the reason that the Great Founder built our city on the Delaware. England would have taken religious freedom from us also had not her oppression with regard to political rights been checked. It was not without the guidance of the inward light that we arrayed ourselves with Liberty, Truelove.”
“Sometimes what one thinks is the leading of the inward light is but the old Adam that is within us tempting to strife,” remarked Truelove provokingly. “I greatly fear ’tis so in thy case, Margaret. ’Tis easily seen that thou art of a froward and perverse nature. Come! sit by me, Margaret, while I read thy duty to thee. Thou art in need of a lesson.”
“Not from thee.” Peggy’s eyes were sparkling now, and she spoke with some heat. “Who art thou that ’tis thy duty to read me a lesson? Thou art a stranger, met but a moment since. I listen to no lesson from thee, Truelove Davis.”
“And there spoke the Owen temper,” came from the other severely.
Peggy turned toward her quickly.
“What know thee of the Owen temper?” she asked in amazement.
“Everything, Margaret. How hot and unruly it is. I well know how it doth refuse advice, howsoever well meant. Thee should be sweet and amiable, like me.”
“Like thee?” Puzzled, perplexed, and withal indignant, Peggy could not help retorting. “Will thee pardon me, Truelove, if I say that thy amiability lacks somewhat of sweetness?”
“Nay; I will not pardon thee. Lack somewhat of sweetness indeed, Mistress Margaret Owen! Does thee think thee has all the sweetness in the family? Obstinate, perverse Peggy!”
With a cry Peggy sprang toward her.
“Thy face!” she cried. “Let me see thy face. ’Tis Harriet’s voice, but Harriet——”
“Is before you.” The girl unclasped the mask and revealed the laughing, beautiful face of Harriet Owen. “Oh, Peggy! Peggy! for a Quakeress you did not show much meekness. So you would not take a lesson from a stranger, eh? You should have seen your face when I proposed it.”
“But how did thee come here, Harriet? And why did thee assume this dress?”
“Come sit down, and I’ll tell you all about it,” said Harriet, giving her cousin a squeeze. “Don’t be afraid, Peggy. I promise not to teach any lesson. I should not dare to. But oh!” she laughed gleefully. “I shall never forget how you looked. You’ll be the death of me yet, little cousin.”
“From every valley and hill there comeThe clamoring voices of fife and drum;And out in the fresh, cool morning airThe soldiers are swarming everywhere.”—“Reveille,” Michael O’Connor.
“From every valley and hill there comeThe clamoring voices of fife and drum;And out in the fresh, cool morning airThe soldiers are swarming everywhere.”
—“Reveille,” Michael O’Connor.
“But first, Harriet, do take off that bonnet, and let me see thee as thou art really; with thy hair about thy face. So.” Peggy reached over and untied the bow as she spoke, then removed the prim little bonnet from her cousin’s head. “How beautiful thee is,” she commented gazing at the maiden with admiring eyes. “I think thee grows more so every time I see thee. That bonnet doth not become thee.”
Harriet shook back her chestnut ringlets, and laughed gaily. Her wonderful eyes, dancing with mirth, were starry in their radiance.
“One would think that I did not make agood Quakeress, Peggy, to hear you talk. Now confess,” pinching Peggy’s cheek playfully, “you did not dream that I was aught other than Truelove Davis; did you?”
“N-no; and yet thee puzzled me,” said Peggy. “Oh, Harriet, thee should turn play actress.”
“Well, there are times when I think of it, cousin mine. ’Tis rare sport to make others believe that I am that which I am not.”
“But why did thee do it, Harriet? And to be here alone on the highway!”
“I wanted to see Clifford, Peggy. Neither father nor I had heard aught from him since the misfortune at Yorktown, save that he was at Lancaster. We knew not whether he was ill or in health, or whether he was meeting with kindness or not. As your Congress permits supplies to be sent to the captured British it occurred to me that I might come along with them and find out about my brother. Of course, as the Most Honorable Council of Pennsylvania had banished me from the state, I dared not come openly, so I slipped in by the back door, as it were.
“Father would not hear of my coming atfirst. Then I dressed up in this garb, and went in to where he sat talking with the new commander, Sir Guy Carleton, who hath come to take Sir Henry Clinton’s place, and neither one of them knew me. Sir Guy declared that there would be no danger, as a Quakeress would meet with respectful treatment anywhere. He gave me a pass which would further insure my well being, and so, when a boat load of stores was shipped to Head of Elk the first of this week, I came with it. Everything hath gone off well until this breakdown, and I do not regret that, since it hath brought us together. So you see, Peggy, the matter is very simple after all.”
“Yes,” said Peggy. “Harriet, thy brother was at our house in Third Month.”
“He was?” exclaimed Harriet. “Tell me about it, Peggy.”
And Peggy told her all that had happened on that memorable first of March, with its consequences.
“So the Council hauled you and Sally up before it, did it?” cried Harriet. “Oh, dear, Peggy! you are always getting into trouble over us, aren’t you? And Sally, and Robert,and Fairfax, all helped you in the affair. That makes me feel sorry about Fairfax Johnson. Do you know, Peggy, that matter hath created quite a stir in New York? There were many who wanted Sir Henry to turn over Captain Lippencott to the rebel general, but the court-martial found that he was acting under verbal orders from the Honorable Board of Associated Loyalists, and so should not be punished for obedience. Sir Guy is not altogether satisfied with the finding.”
“It was very sad, Harriet,” said Peggy, the tears coming to her eyes. “Fairfax was only doing his duty in defending the state from invasion, and ’twas most inhuman to execute him in such a lawless manner. Our people are not satisfied to let the matter rest, because ’twas a crime committed in open defiance of the laws of war.”
“Oh, well,” spoke Harriet lightly. “Don’t let’s talk about it, Peggy. I dare say Sir Guy Carleton and your General Washington will arrive at some understanding regarding the affair. Is that your mother’s coach coming?”
“Yes. She will be glad to see thee, Harriet. She is fond of thee. And Robert Daleis beside her. Thee will like him, Harriet. Indeed, I know not how one could help it.”
“Indeed, my cousin?” Harriet’s brows went up quizzically. “I thought you were all for Captain Drayton? I rather prefer this Major Dale myself. He hath more manners than John Drayton ever had.”
Peggy’s face flushed, but she observed quietly:
“They are both dear lads, Harriet. Thee will see John also at Lancaster. Father said that he had been sent there.”
“Then it will be quite like old times, Peggy. At Middlebrook there were John Drayton and your father to take us about. If we have Robert Dale, in addition to Clifford, we should have a gay time.”
“Perhaps,” was Peggy’s answer.
A look of intense amazement appeared upon Robert Dale’s face as he rode up. He had left a demure Quakeress with Peggy, and returned to find this beautiful, radiant girl. Both girls laughed at his bewildered expression.
“’Tis my Cousin Harriet Owen, Robert,” explained Peggy. “She hath assumed thisdress that she might go through to Lancaster with safety to see her brother, Clifford.”
“But—but Truelove Davis?” The youth was plainly nonplused.
“He wants Truelove, Peggy,” cried Harriet her eyes dancing with mischief. “Where is that bonnet?” She caught it up as she spoke, tying it again under her chin. “Does that please thee better, friend youth?” she asked turning toward the young man roguishly.
“Would that I were a limner to paint you,” burst from the young fellow impulsively.
Harriet smiled charmingly as she swept him an elaborate courtesy.
“In that thee does not agree with my cousin, friend. She doth not consider the bonnet becoming. In truth, I fear me that I did give her rather a bad quarter of an hour when I wore it.”
“Harriet?” exclaimed Mrs. Owen looking out of the calash which by this time had come up to where they were. “Why, child, how came thee here? Robert thought——”
“Yes, I know,” cried Harriet. “I know what Robert thought, but ’tis as you see,madam my cousin. If I may ride with you I will explain all.” Into her voice there crept the supplicating quaver that Peggy remembered so well. Her mother responded instantly to the plea.
“Why, Harriet, thou art doubly welcome. Once for the stranger whom we thought thee, and again for thyself. Get right in with me, child, and tell me all that hath befallen thee. Why, ’tis long since I have seen thee.”
“How beautiful she is,” spoke Robert Dale as he and Peggy rode on after Harriet had climbed into the coach beside Mrs. Owen. “How beautiful she is!”
“Is she not?” asked Peggy eagerly. “Methinks she grows more so every time I see her. Does thee not think so too, Robert?”
“I do not know, Peggy. This is the first time I have ever seen her. When you were at Middlebrook I was with General Arnold in Philadelphia. When you were in Philadelphia I was with the army, and so you see, Peggy, this is my first glimpse of your cousin.”
“Why, so it is, Robert. No wonder thee thinks her beautiful when ’tis the first timethee has seen her. Every one does. Are not her eyes dazzling?”
“They are, Peggy. Now tell me why she appeared in this garb here.”
“It was to see how Clifford fared,” answered Peggy. “She hath not heard from him since Yorktown, and she wished to see for herself how he was.” And forthwith she related all that Harriet had told her of the matter.
“That is very brave, Peggy,” he declared with admiration. “Brave and daring! What love she must bear him to risk so much to see him! I should like to know her better.”
“Thee shall, Robert,” she cried, warmly pleased with this whole-hearted commendation of her beautiful cousin. “Harriet rides well, and she shall ride with thee part of the way.”
And so with Harriet alternating with Peggy in riding Star the rest of the journey was passed. They came into Lancaster the next day, the tall spire of the court-house with the two faces of its clock being the first thing to be spied. The town swarmed with soldiers. It seemed to Peggy that there was one onevery corner. In truth Lancaster was in fair way toward being a military camp. The Americans found much difficulty in disposing of their prisoners. They had no military posts regularly fitted for the purpose, and could suggest no better means for securing them than to place them under guard in a thickly settled part of the country, where the inhabitants were most decidedly hostile to the English. So Reading, Carlisle, and Lancaster were chosen in Pennsylvania, together with other points in Virginia and Maryland remote from the coast. In addition to the prisoners from the surrender of Saratoga, who had been hurried into Lancaster at the first invasion of Virginia, many prisoners of Lord Cornwallis’s army were confined there. This required a large number of American soldiers for guards, and it was no wonder that the town seemed overrun with troops.
The streets of Lancaster were regular, and paved with brick like those of Philadelphia. It was the most important of the interior cities, and was noted for the manufacture of guns, stage-coaches, stockings, and the peculiar vehicles known as Conestoga wagons.
Peggy, who was on Star when they entered the town, was gazing about with the interested pleasure that a new place always excites, when she gave an exclamation of joy. They were passing the Black Bear Tavern at the time, and at the entrance of the inn stood a well-known form.
“John!” she called. “John Drayton!”
Captain Drayton turned at the call, and an expression of delight swept over his face at sight of the girl. With the jaunty gesture she knew so well he took off his cocked beaver, and came to them quickly.
“Peggy,” he cried, his gladness at seeing her plain to be seen. “You are come at last. Your father told me that you were coming, and I have watched every day for a week for you. Major Dale hath all the luck, to bring you. I should like to have gone, but I could not get leave.”
“And how does thee do, John?”
“Well, Peggy. Well indeed. By the way! you know, I dare say, that your Cousin Clifford is here. I am barracks’ master, and the prisoners are confined in the barracks. Is it not a strange turn of the Wheel of Fortunethat he should be in my charge, when a little less than a year ago I was a prisoner under him? He doth not relish it much, either. Is your mother in the coach, Peggy?”
“Yes; with Harriet,” answered Peggy.
“Harriet!” he ejaculated amazed. “Now what doth Harriet want? I thought we had those cousins where they would not trouble you again.”
“Have you seen the lady of whom you speak, Drayton?” asked Robert Dale abruptly.
“Often, major.” Drayton laughed merrily. “There is not much love lost betwixt us, either, although I owe much to her for rescuing me from an exceedingly embarrassing position. She would not let me thank her because, she informed me, that what she did was for Peggy. Now what doth she want, Peggy?”
“She wants to see how Clifford fares, John. Thee is kind to him, I know.”
“I do all that I can, Peggy, because he is your cousin. I’d do much more if he would allow me. You know he never liked me, and he would actually deprive himself of necessities if he had to receive them at my hands.”
“Will thee let us see him, John?”
“Certainly. We are not very rigid. We keep a strict guard to prevent escape, but otherwise we give the prisoners many privileges. I will speak to your mother now, and Harriet.”
A cloud came to Robert Dale’s brow as he heard Mrs. Owen say:
“John, dear lad, if thee can get away from duty why not get inside with us, and go on to the house? Then we shall all be together once more.”
“Thank you, madam,” answered Drayton with alacrity. “I was hoping that you would ask me. I shall be pleased.”
“I did not know that Captain Drayton was so well known to your family, Peggy,” remarked Robert with some stiffness.
“Why, we have known him for years, Robert,” replied Peggy. “Doesn’t thee like him?”
“He is one of the most daring, dashing, reckless officers in the service, Peggy. Whenever there is anything of an especially dangerous nature to be done, John Drayton is the first fellow to be named in connection with its performance. I have always had a high regardfor him. At least until——” He paused in some confusion.
Peggy laughed out suddenly, and a sparkle of mischief came into her eye.
“At least until thee found that we knew him well. Is that it? What unworthy people we must be that the mere knowing us would render him unfit for thy regard.”
“Now, Peggy,” he began protestingly, then he too laughed. “I am the unworthy one,” he acknowledged humbly. “I did feel a pang that you people should know him so well, and I not know it.”
“Fie, Robert! As though we had not room in our hearts for many friends. Each hath his own peculiar nook, and thou hast thine.”
“Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace,That press the soul, or wring the mind with anguish,Beyond comparison, the worst are thoseWhich to our folly or our guilt we owe.”—John Strange Winter.
“Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace,That press the soul, or wring the mind with anguish,Beyond comparison, the worst are thoseWhich to our folly or our guilt we owe.”
—John Strange Winter.
“And you will take Peggy and me to see Clifford this morning, won’t you, Cousin David?” Harriet smiled brightly over the breakfast table at David Owen as she spoke. Despite the long journey the girls had awakened betimes, and appeared looking so radiant and so thoroughly wholesome that Mr. Owen had declared that they surpassed the morning itself in brightness.
“Thou wilt have to wait until about noon, Harriet,” he answered smiling at her kindly. “I have some work which must be attended to first. When that is done I shall be at thy service.”
“And when thee does go, Harriet, try to persuade thy brother to give his parole, thathe may visit us,” exclaimed Mrs. Owen. “I quite long to see the lad, and John said that there was no reason why he should not be at large, if he would but give his word not to go beyond the limits of the town.”
“I’ll make Clifford see reason,” said Harriet confidently. “He doesn’t like John Drayton, and therefore does not wish to accept any favor from him.”
“But why should he dislike him, lass? Drayton hath been kindness itself to him.”
“You see, Cousin David,” explained Harriet with a charming blush, “Clifford cannot rid himself of the idea that Captain Drayton may have been in favor with me. Once I made a shirt which I gave to the captain in sport. It seems that he twitted Clifford about it, and Clifford tore the garment up. I believe they came to blows over the matter, and there hath been bad feeling between them ever since.”
“That would explain many things,” spoke Mr. Owen musingly. “There is certainly strong dislike on Clifford’s part. Thou art sure that thou hast given no cause for the feeling, lass?”
“Why, I dislike John Drayton extremely, Cousin David. He wears his beaver in what he supposes is a jaunty fashion over his right eye, and he swaggers when he walks. How could one show him favor?”
Mr. Owen laughed.
“The lad does swagger a bit, Harriet, but ’tis not an offensive swagger. As to his hat: ’tis a standing joke of the army as to how he keeps it on in battle. The hotter the fight the further on the side it gets. I saw a letter that General Greene writ to His Excellency in which he declared that Drayton fought with it on his right ear all through the battle of Hobkirk’s Hill. John was made a captain for valor shown during that engagement. General Greene says that if it ever gets an inch further down he will be a general, sure. Thee is pleased over that, Peggy?”
“Oh, Peggy is hopeless where Captain Drayton is concerned,” cried Harriet. “I have never known her to do aught but stand up for him, except when she thought him a deserter at Yorktown. Even then she would not talk against him.”
“Well, he is very deserving, lass. All hismannerisms are those of youth. Underneath them I agree with Peggy that thee will find John Drayton of sterling worth.”
“To my mind he does not compare with Major Dale,” said Harriet. “He hath obtained the rank of major, and hath not found it necessary to bring his ear into service as a resting place for his hat, either.”
Even Peggy joined in the laugh which this remark caused.
“Well, I must to work, to work,” ejaculated Mr. Owen rising. “I would much prefer to stay with you, but I must get to work. Be ready at noon, girls.”
“What is his work?” questioned Harriet as the door closed behind him.
“’Tis in regard to thy people, Harriet,” Mrs. Owen told her. “I make no doubt but that thee knows already that there is a great deal of illicit trade carried on betwixt thy people in New York and some of our citizens. ’Tis David’s duty to examine all goods that are brought into the town to see that none are contraband.”
“Then would he have to examine the wagon load of stores which I came with before itcould be given to our soldiers?” asked Harriet.
“Of course, child. If there is naught contraband in it thee need have no uneasiness. As soon as they are passed upon they are turned over to Major Gordon, a paroled British officer who hath charge of the prisoners here. He distributes them according to the need of the prisoners. The table stores are divided equally.”
“Oh!” uttered Harriet thoughtfully. After a moment she turned to Peggy. “And how shall we amuse ourselves, Peggy, until ’tis time to go to Clifford?”
“Let’s go through the house and grounds,” suggested Peggy. “Thee would like to see them, would thee not?”
“Yes,” answered the girl. “Shall we go now, Peggy?”
The house was roomy enough to house the family comfortably without too much care in its ordering, having a wide piazza in front, with a kitchen, bakehouse and oven in the rear. There were large grounds,—part orchard, part garden, and part meadow-land. But the maidens were most pleased with thegreat number of flowering shrubs about the grounds.
“There are going to be heaps and heaps of roses, Harriet,” cried Peggy delightedly. “Just see the buds! The color is already beginning to show through the green.”
“I see,” replied her cousin, pausing beside a lilac bush to break off a fragrant cluster of blossoms. “I do wish I had brought my horse, Fleetwood. Your father spoke of rides, Peggy, but I see not how I can go with you.”
“Father will, no doubt, get thee a mount, Harriet. Of course ’twill not be Fleetwood, but thee won’t mind that, will thee?”
“No, Peggy.”
It was just noon when David Owen came for them. The prisoners confined at Lancaster were for the most part kept in barracks, but many were permitted at large on parole so that the streets swarmed with them. The house was but a half mile from the barracks, and this distance was soon traversed.
A strong stockade with four blockhouses, one on each corner, enclosed the barracks. Captain Drayton met them just as they passed through the stockade gates.
“This way,” he said, leading them across the parade-ground where a company was drilling. “I sent for Captain Williams to be in the anteroom. He should be there waiting for you. I did not tell him who wished to see him.”
Major Dale was standing at the entrance of the barracks, and the party stopped for a moment’s chat with him. Presently Peggy passed on into the anteroom. Clifford was sitting disconsolately by a table with his head resting on his hand. He was pale, and thinner than she had ever seen him, but his resemblance to her father was more marked than ever. He cried out at sight of her.
“Peggy,” he cried springing to his feet, “is this what that Yankee captain meant by sending for me? Cousin David said that he expected you, but he did not tell me that you had come.”
“I just came last night, my cousin,” she answered scanning his face with deep concern. “And how is thee?”
“Oh, I’m all right,” he answered carelessly. “That is,” he added hastily, “as right as one well can be who is a prisoner.”
“Mother is here too, Clifford. She wishes to see thee so much. We want thee to be with us, my cousin, while we are here, and Captain Drayton hath said that thee might come and go at thy pleasure if thee would give thy word not to try to escape.”
“Drayton is very kind,” he remarked, his lip curling. “I give no word to him of any sort. Why, Harriet!” he broke off abruptly. “How did you get here?”
“Hasn’t Peggy told you all about it?” cried Harriet running to him. “Oh, Cliff, ’twas such a good joke that I played on her. I made a stricter Quakeress than she does. You see we had not heard from you for so long that ’twas quite time that some of us looked you up. Sit down, and I’ll tell you about it.”
“Father ought not to have permitted it,” he observed, when she had finished the recital. “I don’t see why he did. I like it not, my sister.”
“Nonsense, Cliff! there was no danger. Peggy can tell you that there was no risk of my being thought other than I seemed.”
“I like it not,” he repeated. “And now,Harriet, what will you do? It doth not seem wise to me, or right for you to return to New York.”
“I shall stay with Peggy for a time,” she told him easily.
“We shall be pleased to have her with us, my cousin,” spoke Peggy instantly, noting his troubled glance.
“But she may have to remain until peace, which may be long in coming, Peggy.”
“I think not, Clifford,” spoke Harriet, before Peggy could make any response. “If we enforce the new policy which Sir Guy Carleton hath inaugurated, America will be glad to have peace on any terms.”
“I have heard of no new policy,” he said somewhat curtly. “What is it?”
“You have scarcely been in the way of hearing new things, my brother. Know then that the colonies are to be so harassed from all sides that they will sue for peace. On the frontiers,” she exulted, seemingly unmindful of Peggy’s presence, “and on the coasts.”
“There hath been too much of that already,” he said grimly. “It hath brought usinto disfavor with the entire world. Take the death of Fairfax Johnson, for instance, which was the direct result of such a policy. ’Twas a base and ignoble act to murder him; for it was murder.”
“Englishmen did not do that, Clifford. ’Twas the loyalists.”
“Englishmen sanction the act while they retain Lippencott, the murderer,” he answered. “Have they given him up yet?”
“No, of course not,” she responded. “The court-martial exonerated him. You would not feel about the matter as you do, Cliff, if you had not known Fairfax. Sir Guy hath also another plan of which I am not at liberty to speak. And, Cliff, I wish you would have Major Gordon come in here. I have something to say to him.”
“Why, Harriet, you do not know him,” exclaimed Clifford, turning a startled glance upon her. “What could you possibly have to say to him?”
“I want to tell him about the goods that I brought, my brother,” she made answer.
“I did not understand that you brought them,” he said. “I thought you merely tookadvantage of the fact that they were being sent to come with them.”
“Why, so I did, Cliff.”
“Then there is no need to send for the major,” he said firmly. “The goods pass through Cousin David’s hands, and are then turned over to Major Gordon for distribution among us. He will get them without you troubling about them.”
“Very well,” she said. “Then let us talk about ourselves. Madam our cousin wishes you to take dinner with her to-day. Cousin David was called away by some matter pertaining to his work just as we were coming in, but he said that he would join us presently to insist upon your going. You must not refuse, Clifford. ’Twould be churlish.”
“Clifford, do come,” pleaded Peggy. “There is so much to talk about that we cannot begin to say half of it here. And Sally. I have somewhat to tell thee of Sally.”
“I do not care to hear anything concerning Mistress Sally,” he said loftily. “Naught that you can say anent the lady interests me.”
“Thee is unjust, my cousin,” began Peggy, when Harriet interrupted her.
“That is simply pig-headedness, Cliff. If Sally Evans said that she did not betray you, then she didn’t. That’s all there is to it. When you come to know these Quakers as I do you will find that they always speak truth.”
“Thank thee, Harriet,” said Peggy gratefully, not a little delighted that her cousin should speak so warmly. “But I won’t say anything more to thy brother anent Sally if he does not wish to hear it. Sally would not like it.”
“’Tis close in these barracks,” cried Harriet rising. “Let’s call John Drayton, so that you can give him your parole, Clifford. We are to have dinner at two. It will be ready by the time we are there.”
Clifford Owen’s lips set in a straight line of determination, but before he could speak the door opened to admit David Owen, Robert Dale, and John Drayton. The countenances of all three were very serious, and Peggy felt her heart begin to throb with anticipation of approaching disaster. Something had gone amiss. What could it be? Harriet noticed nothing unusual in their appearance, and flashed a brilliant smile at them.
“You are just in time, Cousin David,” she cried, “to help us persuade this obstinate brother of mine to give his parole to Captain Drayton.”
“A moment first, lass.” David Owen’s voice was very grave. “Tell me what was in the wagon in which thee came?”
“There were supplies for our soldiers, sir,” she answered. “Table stores and clothing. Why do you ask? Your Congress permits them to be sent.”
“True, lass,” he said. “True. Does thee know what my work here is?”
“I did not know until this morning,” she told him gazing at him fearfully. “Then I learned that it was to check the contraband trade which is held betwixt your people and mine.”
“That is it exactly,” Mr. Owen made answer. “Harriet, it gives me much pain, but I must ask thee if thee——”
But at this point Clifford Owen went quickly to his sister’s side, and faced Mr. Owen boldly.
“Of what do you accuse my sister, sir?” he asked. “Hath she not just said the wagon contained stores for our soldiers?”
“Yes, lad; but it also contains many pounds of goods which are illegal to bring to thy soldiers.”
“And if it does contain such articles she knows naught of how they came there,” spoke the youth wrathfully, his face white with anger. “We are not traders, sir. Harriet would not stoop to smuggle goods here. Why do you not ask the driver concerning the matter?”
“He hath disappeared, Clifford. I pray thee to permit thy sister to answer for herself.” Mr. Owen spoke with great mildness but none the less firmly.
Harriet’s face became pale as he turned toward her. Her gaze clung to his as though fascinated.
“What did you find, Cousin David?” she half whispered.
“A false bottom in the wagon, together with false sides, which gave the vehicle capacity for five hundred pounds of contraband goods,” he told her.
“Truly?” she cried, sitting bolt upright. Her wonder and amaze were such that none could doubt her sincerity. “Why, they didnot tell me about that. Truly, truly, Cousin David, I knew naught about that.”
Was there the slightest emphasis on the “that”? Peggy asked the question of herself almost unconsciously. She glanced at the others. The faces of her father and Robert Dale were glowing with relief and satisfaction. Clifford’s belligerent attitude had relaxed slightly at his sister’s declaration. John Drayton’s glance alone met hers with understanding.
“I believe thee, lass,” cried Mr. Owen heartily. “Robert here would have it that thee knew naught of the matter. Thee understands that ’twas my duty to probe the affair.”
“Why, it’s all right, Cousin David,” she returned sweetly. “You had to do your duty, of course, and there’s no harm done. And I thank you, Major Dale, for your belief in me. I shall never forget it.” The tears came into her lovely eyes as she spoke, making them lovelier than ever.
“I knew that you would not be guilty of such a thing,” exclaimed Robert Dale fervently.
“And now let’s go home for dinner, and forget all about this little unpleasantness,” exclaimed Mr. Owen. “Clifford, lad, we can’t leave thee here. My wife will not forgive us if we do so.”
Again Clifford’s lips set in an obstinate line, but Drayton spoke quickly:
“Captain Williams, I know how it irks you to be obliged to give me your parole; so, if you will go with Mr. Owen, or the major here, to General Hazen, he will receive your parole.”
For a moment Clifford struggled with himself. Then he said, and the effort it cost him was plainly visible:
“I can be as generous as you, sir. I give you my word of honor that I will make no attempt to escape while I am at large.”
“Thank you,” said Drayton simply. “You are at liberty to go with your relatives, sir.”
Peggy lingered for a second behind the others.
“Isn’t thee coming too, John?” she asked.
“Not to-day, Peggy. Clifford will enjoy it more if I am not there. Odds life! he did well to give that parole. He deserves to haveone day free of me. But, Peggy, I’ll come out to-night, if I may. And don’t worry about that wagon. I’ll take it in hand while your father is not here.”
“Was there anything else contraband in the wagon, John?” she queried anxiously that evening when the two found themselves alone on the piazza.
“Yes. The quartermaster was about to turn it over to Major Gordon when I told him I would take another look through the contents. Peggy, in a barrel of vinegar was a water tight cask just filled with goods. That slight emphasis on ‘that’ lost the British a pretty penny. I was alone when ’twas found, Peggy, so that no one knows about it but us two. We won’t let your father, her brother, or Dale know about it. They all believe in her so, and I owe her something for what she did for me at Yorktown.”
“Perchance she really does not know any more about this than she did about the false bottom to the wagon, John.”
“It may be, Peggy. We will give her the benefit of the doubt, but it does look suspicious. She is not so high minded as her brother is.”
“John!” Peggy hesitated and then spoke quickly: “Thee knows how proud I am of her, and that I am fond of her. She is so beautiful and brilliant that I cannot help but be glad when she is with us. But there is always an uneasy feeling too. Is there any mischief to the cause that could be done here?”
“No,” he answered emphatically. “Aside from bringing in goods for the illicit trade there is but one thing that could be done now, Peggy, and that thing Harriet will never do. ’Twould be to peddle those illegal goods to the country folk about here. Harriet won’t do that, Peggy.”
“No, she would not do that,” agreed Peggy.
“Then set your mind at rest concerning her. We have the goods which she was sent to bring. She will never know that all have been found; so there is mutual satisfaction on both sides. If you can get any enjoyment out of her presence, Peggy, do so.”
“Thank thee, John. Thee has set my mind completely at rest,” said Peggy.