“Sound to arms! Call in the captains,—I would speak with them!Now, Hope! away,—and welcome gallant Death!”—“Cataline,”Croly.
“Sound to arms! Call in the captains,—I would speak with them!Now, Hope! away,—and welcome gallant Death!”
—“Cataline,”Croly.
Enjoy Harriet’s presence Peggy did. Never had the English maiden been more charming. Her vivacity, her endless sallies of wit and humor, and her unfailing store of anecdotes rendered her irresistible. Peggy had always been her mother’s assistant in the household but now, quite to the amazement of both mother and daughter, Harriet insisted upon helping.
“I have been a guest long enough,” she laughingly protested in answer to Mrs. Owen’s remonstrance. “Father declares that you are an excellent housewife, madam my cousin. He would be pleased indeed to have me learn of you. Beside,” she added with a most charming blush, “I dare say that I shall have a house of my own to look after some day; so’tis quite time that I knew something of housewifery.”
And marveling greatly at this change in the once indolent Harriet, Mrs. Owen took the girl forthwith under her wing, and spent long hours instructing her in the mysteries of housekeeping. But the time was not all devoted to labor. There were lighter hours in which the maidens took daily rides. There was also much dining about among the officers, their families, and the neighboring gentry of the town and neighborhood. As the weather became warmer picnics followed in the near-by woods, so that there was no lack of diversion. In these pastimes Clifford was an almost constant attendant. Mr. and Mrs. Owen had pressed him to become an inmate of their home, which, being on parole, he was at liberty to do, and he had accepted. The young people made a lively household, and it seemed to Peggy that it was the happiest time that she had enjoyed since the long, grim, weary years of fighting had begun. So the days sped pleasantly and May passed, and June with all its riotousness of roses was upon them.
One warm June morning the family gathered in the pleasant, low-ceiled dining-room for breakfast. Harriet, attired in a wash dress well covered by a vast apron, flushed and rosy, stood at the head of the table.
“I have cooked every bit of the breakfast myself,” she declared proudly. “Cousin David, if you and Clifford don’t do justice to it I shall take it as a personal affront.”
“No wonder the breakfast is an hour late,” murmured Clifford to Peggy as they sat down. “I do think she might have invited Major Dale, or that Yankee captain, instead of making us her victims.”
“Clifford!” pouted his sister. “You are really trying. Madam my cousin hath said that I can bake and brew almost equal to Peggy, so you will have no need of simples after eating. Now does not that strawberry tart look tempting?”
“It does indeed, lass,” observed Mr. Owen. “Peggy will have to look to her laurels if you can get up such a meal as this. Come, come, Clifford! the proof of the pudding lies in the eating. Fall to, lad!”
“My death will be upon your head, Harriet,”observed her brother with such a sigh of resignation that Peggy could not help but laugh. “I do wish John Drayton were here.”
So with jest and laughter the family lingered over the meal, as if loath to make further exertion in the growing heat. In the midst of the cheer the knocker sounded, and, as though in answer to Clifford’s wish, the door swung back quietly, and John Drayton entered. Peggy sprang up at sight of him.
“Thee is just in time, John,” she cried gaily. “Clifford was just wishing for thee. I’ll lay a plate for thee.”
“Clifford?” Drayton’s tones were filled with astonishment.
There had been a sort of tacit truce established between the young fellows, but the feeling between them was such that for either to express desire for the other’s company was cause for wonderment.
“Strange, is’t not?” queried Clifford dryly. The insolence which he could not keep out of his voice whenever he addressed Drayton crept into it now. “You see, sir, my sister hath cooked this meal, and I was wishing for other victims than Cousin David and myself.”
“Knowing to whom Miss Harriet is indebted for her knowledge of cookery I have no fears regarding results,” remarked Drayton, with a slight bow in Mrs. Owen’s direction. “Miss Harriet, that strawberry tart looks enticing. I should be obliged for a liberal helping.”
Clifford flushed angrily at Drayton’s words, but he had the grace to refrain from further remark. After all Captain Drayton ate but little. He trifled with the food, and was distrait and plainly ill at ease. Usually he enjoyed a tilt of words with Clifford, but after the first crossing of lances he said but little.
The meal was over at length, and Drayton faced them as he rose from the table.
“I have a most painful duty to perform,” he said unsteadily. “I feel like a thief in the night sitting here listening to your innocent mirth, knowing what I must do.”
“What is it, John?” asked Mr. Owen, as they all turned wonderingly toward the captain startled by his seriousness. “We know,” he continued kindly, “that thou wouldst do naught that would be disagreeable for any of us were it not in the line of duty. Speak out, lad.”
“I am come to take Clifford back to the barracks,” spoke Drayton, unconsciously using Clifford’s given name.
“But why?” asked Clifford quickly. “I have passed my word not to try to escape. And I am ‘Clifford,’ sir, only to my friends.”
“I beg your pardon, Captain Williams,” spoke Drayton courteously. “I spoke without thinking.” He passed his hand across his brow as though in doubt how to proceed, then he began to speak rapidly: “All of you know how poor Fairfax Johnson met his death at the hands of the loyalists in New Jersey. Well, we have been able to obtain no satisfaction from the enemy for the outrage which they acknowledge was unjustifiable; so Congress hath determined to select an officer from among the English prisoners who shall be executed in retaliation for Johnson’s death.
“Therefore, thirteen officers from among the prisoners of war have been ordered to report at the Black Bear Tavern this morning in order that a victim may be chosen for retaliation. Captain Williams is among those so ordered to report.”
A long moment of silence followed this announcement. Drayton’s distress was plainly visible. The stillness was broken by Harriet.
“And why, sir,” she said sharply, “should my brother be among those who are bidden to report?”
“On account of his rank, Miss Harriet,” he returned. “Johnson was a captain, so eight captains and five lieutenants make up the thirteen officers. The victim should be as near the rank of Captain Johnson as possible.”
“It is according to the rules of war,” spoke Clifford Owen clearly. “The Americans but act according to their rights. We should do the same. I am ready to accompany you at any time, Captain Drayton.”
“You shall not, Clifford,” shrieked Harriet, throwing her arms about him. “John Drayton is but one. We can overpower him, and you can escape.”
“Break my parole!” he ejaculated, horrified. “My sister, you know not what you say.”
“And after all, he may not be the unfortunate one, Miss Harriet,” spoke Drayton withan attempt at consolation. “There are thirteen from among whom the choice is to be made.”
David Owen roused himself.
“True, there are thirteen,” he murmured. “Would it be permitted, John, that I go with the lad?”
“Yes, Mr. Owen.” John Drayton’s eyes were full of compassion. “No undue rigor is to be used in carrying out orders, though of course few spectators will be allowed.”
“And a place must be found for me,” cried Harriet. “Do you think I can stay here and not know whether my brother is to be killed, or not?”
“We can’t do it, Miss Harriet.” Drayton’s voice was inflexible. “It would upset all arrangements to have a woman present. It cannot be done. Come, Captain Williams.”
Clifford was the calmest among them as he bade them farewell. Harriet was too agitated to do more than wring her hands continually.
“It will be he, I know it will,” she cried as Mr. Owen and John Drayton disappeared from view, Clifford walking between them.
“We must hope for the best, my child,”said Mrs. Owen trying to comfort her. But Harriet could only say over and over:
“I know that it will be Clifford.” She was walking up and down the floor as she uttered the words again and again. Suddenly she paused, and held out her hand to Peggy: “Come!” she said. “I am going to that tavern.”
At a sign from her mother Peggy went to her. Harriet clasped Peggy’s hand tightly in her own, and all through the trying scene that followed never once did she let it go. Without thought that they were still in their morning dresses, and without stopping for hats the girls hastened into the street.
A hush seemed to have fallen upon the town. There were groups of people clustered about everywhere talking in subdued tones of the act of reprisal that was about to follow. Retaliation had been the demand of every patriot since the inhuman and lawless murder of Fairfax Johnson. No American prisoner was safe so long as the act was unrequited. At length Congress had taken measures whereby a victim should expiate the outrage upon the Jersey captain. So the citizensstood on the corners talking to each other almost in whispers of what was going on at the tavern. Peggy and her cousin passed them unheedingly.
In the yard of the inn twenty dragoons stood waiting the result, ready to take the unfortunate victim off to New Jersey for immediate execution. There were many others standing about; some on the piazza, others in the corridors, all awaiting the result of the meeting which was taking place in a room of the tavern.
Once only some one tried to bar their entrance, but Harriet turned such a look upon the man that he slunk away abashed, and they proceeded unmolested. Through the corridor they passed to the stairs. Here they met the wife of the landlord.
“Ye can go no further, young ladies,” she said, her ample form blocking their progress. “There is an important meeting up-stairs, and no one is allowed up there.”
“Madam, you must let me go,” burst from Harriet. “My brother is one of the men from whom the victim is to be chosen. Do, do let me be where I can at least hear what is going on.”
The girl was so lovely in her distress that only for a moment did the woman hesitate, then she turned abruptly. “Follow me,” she said, “Bless your pretty face, I could not refuse such a request as that. But you must make no noise. You must just listen.”
“Yes, yes,” spoke Harriet feverishly. “That is all we ask.”
“The meeting is in there,” said the woman pausing before a door. “Ye are to go in here, where there is a door between the rooms. Ye can hear very well there. Now, remember: no noise.”
“Yes, yes,” spoke Harriet again. “Come, Peggy.” And into the room they hurried.
At first they heard nothing but distant echoes, as of closing doors and people hurrying in and out of rooms. These noises resounded through the passages, and gave a note of unusual commotion down-stairs. Presently the distant sounds ceased, and out-of-doors all was quiet too. All at once the hum of voices in the adjoining room came to them. Harriet went swiftly toward the closed door, and before Peggy realized what she was about to do, the girl had opened it.
So intent were the men in that other room that they did not notice the opening of the door, nor did they turn their heads as the faces of the girls appeared in the entry way. Brigadier-General Hazen, who had charge of the post at Lancaster, was speaking, and all eyes were fixed upon him.
On one side of a long table which stood in the center of the room sat the thirteen young officers from whom the victim was to be selected. Back of them stood the British Major Gordon. A little apart stood Mr. Owen and Robert Dale with the officer of the dragoons. On the side of the table opposite the unfortunate thirteen were John Drayton and the commissary, with two little drummer boys. The scarlet coats of the British made a pleasing note of color against the buff and blue of the Continentals.
“That this drawing may be as fair as possible,” General Hazen was saying, “it has been deemed best that the names of the thirteen officers shall be placed in one hat; in another hat shall be placed thirteen slips of paper of the same size, all of them blank save one on which is written the word, ‘unfortunate.’These drummer boys are to draw out the slips simultaneously from the hats. The name drawn at the same time that the word unfortunate is drawn will be the victim selected. Gentlemen, I have only to say that no one can regret more deeply than I the course events have taken. Captain Drayton, will you and the commissary take the hats?”
Amid a silence so profound that a pin could have been heard to fall the two officers took the hats, and stood holding them on the table while the drummer boys began the drawing. Into Peggy’s mind darted Thomas Ashley’s words:
“‘There shall be retaliation, Hannah. Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, life for life.’”
She started as though some one had spoken. Retaliation! Was this what it meant? That another innocent life should be taken? How horrible and bloody a thing is war! Because some one else hath committed a crime must another pay the penalty? One, two, three, four, five. Five names drawn. And Clifford’s name not yet. Not yet. Her breath came gaspingly but strangely quiet as thatother room was no one noticed it. Harriet was clutching her hand so tightly that it ached for hours afterward, but at the time neither girl knew it.
Six, seven, eight, nine! And still Clifford’s name had not been called. Harriet bent forward as the boy drew the next slip:
“Captain Williams,” he read clearly.
And from the other, hitherto so silent, sounded at the same time a word that fell upon the ear like a knell of doom:
“Unfortunate!”
And then from every American as well as every Englishman present there broke a sob. That is, from every man except Clifford Owen. He was very quiet, very composed, but his gaze was turned upon John Drayton as though he expected triumph at the result. But tears were running down Drayton’s face, and Clifford’s own countenance softened as he saw it. Once before Peggy had heard strong men weep. Then it had been over the defection of a brilliant soldier; now they wept that a fresh young life must be given in reprisal. Once, twice, General Hazen had tried to speak. At last he laid his hand upon Clifford’sshoulder, and turning to the officer of the dragoons, said huskily:
“This gentleman, sir, is your prisoner.”
But at that Harriet, who had stood as though stunned, gave a great cry, and ran to Clifford:
“My brother! My brother! My brother!”
“Here we have war for war, blood for blood,Controlment for controlment.”—King John.
“Here we have war for war, blood for blood,Controlment for controlment.”
—King John.
Exclamations of pity and compassion came from the men as Harriet threw her arms about her brother. On General Hazen’s countenance consternation showed as well as commiseration. The scene was sufficiently trying as it was. The feminine note added to the complexity of the situation.
Over Clifford Owen’s face there swept a swift, indescribable change. He drew his sister to him and held her close, bending his head to hers with a gesture that was full of yearning. There was not a dry eye in the room. Both Americans and English felt it no shame to their manhood that tears streamed unrestrainedly down their cheeks.
The brother and sister were so young. The youth, noble and handsome, was striving tobear the tragic fate trust upon him with fortitude yet was torn by his love for his sister. The maiden, so surpassingly lovely that even the violence of her grief could not mar her beauty, was filled with anguish over the impending doom of her brother. That the boy had all he could do to maintain his composure was manifest to every one. For a time it seemed that affection would submerge all other emotions; then came a quick stiffening of his body as though he were preparing himself to resist any further appeal to his tenderness. When he spoke it was clearly and composedly:
“My sister, what do you here? This is no place for you.”
“I had to come,” she cried passionately. “Think you I could stay away when I knew not what would be done to you?”
“’Tis known now, Harriet. The lot hath been taken. I must accept my fate. Help me to do it bravely, my sister. You are a soldier’s daughter, a soldier’s sister. Let us show Americans how English men and English women meet untoward events.”
“Oh,” she uttered piteously, “you are todie. What is pride of race when you are to die? And father? What will father say?”
“He is a soldier, Harriet. He knows that war hath its vicissitudes which to-day may bring victory; to-morrow, death. He knows this, and we, his children, should know it also. He would like us to meet this with courage and calmness.”
“I cannot,” she cried sobbing convulsively. “I cannot, Clifford. They mean to hang you, my brother; just as Fairfax Johnson was hanged. I cannot bear it.”
“Cousin David!” The boy turned appealingly toward Mr. Owen. His lips were white. His brow was wet with perspiration. He was fast approaching the limit of his endurance. “Will you take her? I—I cannot——” He compressed his lips tightly, unable to proceed.
“Yes, my lad,” answered Mr. Owen brokenly. He beckoned to Peggy, and they both endeavored to unclasp Harriet’s clinging arms from her brother.
“No, no,” she shrieked. “I cannot let you go, Clifford. Is there no way to prevent this awful thing? Major Gordon,” turningtoward that officer suddenly, “can’t you do something? Can’t you do something?”
“There is naught that can be done,” replied Major Gordon pityingly. As the principal British officer in Lancaster he had been present that he might be satisfied that everything was conducted with fairness. Beyond that he was helpless, being himself on parole.
General Hazen spoke at this moment, to the relief of all:
“My dear young lady,” he said gruffly, to hide his emotion, “your brother need not start for New Jersey to-day. He may remain in Lancaster for two days longer, which will give a slight respite. He must be held a close prisoner during that time, well guarded to prevent escape; but you may see him once each day. It is not in my power to do more than that, but it is something.”
“It is much, sir,” she cried seizing his hand, and impulsively kissing it.
“I thank you, sir,” said Clifford courteously, quick to seize the advantage such diversion created. “I shall see you then to-morrow, my sister. Captain, I am ready.”
With firm step he placed himself by theside of the dragoon, who took him by the arm. On the other side of him walked the British Major Gordon, and thus they passed out of the room. The youth’s departure was the signal for this most tragic meeting to break up. Quietly, showing no elation that they had been spared and another taken, their faces expressive only of sorrow, the twelve British officers, each saluting Harriet as he left, filed out of the apartment. The drummer boys tiptoed after them. General Hazen was the last to go, pausing only to say:
“You shall see him twice more, my dear. I think I would go home now, if I were you. This hath been most trying. Odds life, most trying!”
“You are very kind, sir,” she said miserably. “I appreciate it. But—but after two days; then what?”
“Child,” he said gravely, with great compassion, “I cannot delude you with false hopes. After two days your brother must go to meet his fate in New Jersey. I can do naught to prevent it.” He took a pinch of snuff hastily, then hurried from the room.
“Peggy!” Harriet stretched out her armsto her cousin with a cry of bitterness. “What shall I do? What shall I do?”
But Peggy shook her head sorrowfully as she drew the girl into her arms. What could be done? She knew of nothing. That the safety of American prisoners might be assured Congress had decreed the death of a British officer to retaliate upon a lawless act of the enemy. That the officer chosen chanced to be her cousin did not change the justice of the act. Fairfax Johnson’s death had been too recent, too near to Peggy for her not to see the fairness of retribution. And yet, and yet! that it should prove to be Clifford. It seemed so hopeless, so dark, Peggy could only shake her head while her tears fell fast.
“We must go home, lass,” spoke David Owen. There were tears in his eyes, and he patted Harriet’s shoulder with infinite tenderness. He was deeply moved by what had taken place, for Clifford had become dear to him; yet the boy’s conduct under the trying circumstances filled him with pride. Now he patted the girl’s shoulder, saying, “’Twill be far better for us to be at home than here. Come, Harriet! Perchance something willoccur to us now that we have time to think.”
“Yes, Cousin David.” The girl wiped her eyes and rose obediently as though where she was made no difference. As she did so her glance fell upon Captain Drayton and Major Dale. The two young men had lingered, loth to leave them in their trouble. “Are you not coming too?” she asked.
“We do not wish to intrude, Miss Harriet,” answered Robert Dale, speaking for both.
“But you will not,” she replied. “I want you to come. Both of you. You are of the army, and may be able to suggest something. Come, and let us talk it over.”
So, accompanied by the two youths, they went slowly back to the house. The news had spread throughout the town, and the people, knowing that the unfortunate victim was a relative, respectfully made way for them. The young English captain had become a well-known figure during the time he was on parole, and his youth, manliness, and unfailing courtesy caused every one to deplore the fact that such a doom should have fallen upon one who so little deserved it. Mrs. Owen metthem at the door, and her manner told them that she had heard what had resulted from the meeting. She took Harriet at once in her motherly arms.
“I shall take thee right up-stairs to bed, my child,” she said. “This hath been very trying for thee.”
“Nay, madam my cousin,” said the girl, smiling wanly. “’Tis no time for coddling. I shall have all the rest of life to lie in bed; now I must try to find some way to save my brother.”
“Mistress Harriet!” Drayton, who had been unusually thoughtful, now spoke abruptly. “What I am about to suggest may not be of worth, but it can be tried. Why not go to General Washington and plead for your brother? If that fails, and fail it may because retaliation is demanded as the only safeguard Americans have for their countrymen who are prisoners, then go on to your own commander. He may be able to arrange matters with our general.”
Harriet listened dazedly at first, as though unable to grasp what he was saying. All at once, as she comprehended the full import ofhis words, a magical transformation took place. The color returned to her cheeks, and the light to her eyes. She seemed infused with new life.
“John Drayton,” she cried eagerly, “I do believe that you have hit upon the very thing. How strange that no one else thought of it! General Washington might postpone the carrying out of this dreadful measure. And Sir Guy! Why, if the rebel general will only wait until I can see my own commander all will be well. He is indebted to me for service in behalf of the new campaign, and will be glad to requite it. I shall go to General Washington. Thank you, Captain Drayton, for the suggestion. I’ll never forget that ’twas you who offered it. I haven’t always been very nice to you, but if——”
“I am your debtor, Miss Harriet, for what you did for me last year at Yorktown,” interrupted Drayton quietly. “Mind! it may come to naught, but ’tis the only thing that can be done.”
“And I shall do it,” she said with determination. “I shall start for Philadelphia when they leave with my brother.”
“To add to what Captain Drayton hath suggested,” spoke Major Dale, “carry the matter to Congress while you are in Philadelphia. If you can get the execution postponed, and have influence with Sir Guy Carleton, get him to turn Lippencott over to us. He is the man who should be punished.”
“He shall do it,” she cried. “Captain Lippencott is but a refugee, and Clifford is an English officer. An officer who hath given good and honorable service to his king. ’Tis not meet nor fitting that such an one should be punished for the crime of a refugee. Sir Guy shall be made to see it properly. He shall! He shall!”
“But now thee must go to bed,” exclaimed Mrs. Owen alarmed by the girl’s excitement. “Thee can talk again with the lads, but now to bed.”
Despite her protests the good lady hurried her off to bed, nor would she consent that Harriet should leave it until the next morning. By that time the maiden had entirely regained her composure, and was eager to go to Clifford with the news of her intention to go to Philadelphia. Accordingly, as soon asit was permissible to see her brother, she set forth with Peggy for the guard-house at the barracks where he was confined. There were two troopers in the room with him whose duty it was to keep an unfailing watch upon him. Clifford was slightly pale, but seemed to have himself well in hand. He dissented strongly from Harriet’s proposal to see the Congress and General Washington.
“’Twill be useless,” he said. “The Congress seek reprisal. If I am not the victim ’twill be another. There is no reason why I should seek to evade that which must be the fate of some English officer.”
“Clifford, don’t you care?” she wailed.
“Yes; I do, Harriet,” he answered gravely. “I care very much. I don’t want to die at all, particularly by hanging. I don’t suppose that Fairfax Johnson did either, but his wishes weren’t consulted in the matter. And they will remember that fact. It hath been said that he met death with great firmness and composure. I want to do as well.”
“I must do something,” she cried. “I cannot bear it unless I try to do something to save you.”
“Then, Harriet, you shall make any effort that you wish,” he said tenderly. “But do not ask for my life, my sister. Plead for a postponement, an you will; then go to Sir Guy. If you must humble yourself, let it be to your own commander. You are English, remember.”
“And Peggy shall go with me, Clifford,” she said.
“You will, will you not, my cousin?” he asked turning to her.
“If thee wishes it, Clifford,” answered Peggy gently.
“I do wish it. She should have some one with her who would prevent rashness. I cannot imagine where she got the idea——”
“It was John Drayton’s suggestion,” interrupted his sister. “He was the only one who seemed to have any idea what to do.”
“Drayton?” exclaimed Clifford, surprised out of his composure. “Why, that is strange!”
“They are coming for us, Harriet,” spoke Peggy. “We shall have to go.”
“But I have not yet begun to talk,” cried Harriet protestingly. “Why do they make the interview so short?”
“It is pleasant to have one at all, my sister. ’Tis an indulgence that is not often granted in such cases. Beside, you have leave to come again to-morrow, and if you go to Philadelphia there will, no doubt, be opportunity for conversation upon the road.”
But as Harriet passed through the door Clifford laid a detaining hand upon Peggy’s arm.
“My cousin,” he said speaking rapidly, “you have always spoken truth to me, and I want you to do so now. Does Cousin David think there is aught of use in Harriet’s seeing the Congress, or General Washington?”
Peggy’s lips quivered, and her eyes filled.
“Father said last night, my cousin, that there was but one hope,” she said mournfully. “’Tis the talk of the barracks that Captain Lippencott should be given up to us. If he hath an atom of honor, rather than have an innocent person suffer for his deed, he will give himself up as soon as he hears of this. Every one says this, Clifford.”
“And that is the only hope, Peggy?”
“I—I fear so, Clifford. If Lippencott——”
“He won’t,” said Clifford with a sigh.“Thank you, little cousin. It was better that I should know the truth. I am glad that you will go with Harriet, and when she hath finished with General Washington, get her to go right on to father, Peggy.”
“I will,” she promised.
“Good-bye, then, until to-morrow,” he said. “Is Cousin David coming?”
“Yes, Clifford.”
“Peggy,” called Harriet, and Peggy went out to join her.
Mr. Owen, after his visit to Clifford, announced that if leave could be obtained he would accompany them also to Philadelphia.
“There may be trouble for thee in entering Philadelphia again, Harriet,” he said. “Thou hast been banished, remember.”
“True, but they would not hold it against me now,” she cried in dismay.
“I think naught will be said anent the subject,” he replied. “But in case there might be ’twould be well to have me with thee. For this and other reasons I shall go.”
“I am so glad, Cousin David,” she cried. And Peggy too felt greatly relieved when she was told.
So it came about that when the dragoons set forth with their prisoner two days later they were accompanied by Major Gordon, Mr. Owen, and the two girls, Peggy and Harriet. Clifford was closely guarded, but there was no undue severity shown. He was permitted to converse with his cousins and his sister whenever he wished. Frequently he rode long stretches of the road with them, the troopers in front and behind.
And everywhere, at the inns, and the towns through which they passed, the people flocked to see this victim of retaliation. And the extreme youth and manly bearing of the unfortunate young man won him much compassion. The people had been greatly stirred by the death of Fairfax Johnson. He too was young, and his death had been such a lawless proceeding that it had roused the whole country to the necessity of reprisal lest other Americans be subjected to a like fate. But there was a dignity in the warm passions of these people that the instant it was in their power to punish they felt a disposition to forgive. And so there was pity and compassion freely expressed for the young captain and his untoward fate.
It was a sorrowful journey. The troopers rode hard and fast, so that the afternoon of the third day after leaving Lancaster brought them to the Middle Ferry. The sun was just sinking behind the hills of the Schuylkill as they crossed the ferry, and rode down High Street into Philadelphia. Mr. Owen and the two maidens left the party at Fifth Street, bound for the Owens’ residence in Chestnut Street. The troopers continued down High Street to Third; for they were to stop at the Bunch of Grapes Tavern.
“Alas! regardless of their doom,The little victims play!No sense have they of ills to come,No care beyond to-day.”—Gray.
“Alas! regardless of their doom,The little victims play!No sense have they of ills to come,No care beyond to-day.”
—Gray.
The great clock of the State House was striking ten, the next morning, as Peggy emerged from the west entrance of the dwelling, and, basket in hand, went down the steps of the terrace into the gardens.
It was a lovely day. The sky was blue with June’s own cerulean hue, and across its depths floated the softest of fleecy white clouds. The air was fresh and balmy, and tinged with the honeyed sweetness of red roses. With basket and shears the girl wandered from bush to bush, cutting the choicest blossoms. That her mind was not on her task was manifest by the fact that ever and anon she paused, shears in hand, and became absorbedin thought. In this manner she sauntered through the grassy paths and graveled alleys until she came at length to the fence which separated the garden from Fifth Street. Peggy stopped here, and gazed thoughtfully across at the State House, as she was wont to do in the early years of the war.
“What will the Congress do?” she mused. “Would that I could see into that east room! Will they listen to Harriet, I wonder? And the people! how many there are in the square. What makes them cluster about the grounds so?”
The State House Square was in truth filled with groups of men who stood about talking earnestly. It was the custom of the citizens of Philadelphia to do this when any exciting event occurred, or when any stirring measure was before the Congress. Peggy’s curiosity as to the cause was therefore natural, but there was no one near who could gratify it, so she turned reluctantly from the fence, and resumed her task of cutting the roses. Abstractedly she worked, oblivious to her surroundings, when all at once the sound of flying feet brought her back to reality. Startledshe turned to see Sally Evans running toward her from under the trees.
“I have just heard about Clifford, Peggy,” cried Sally, flinging herself upon her friend. “Mr. Deering told me. I thought that I should find thee here, or some of thy people. Oh, Peggy! Peggy! that it should be Clifford.”
“Yes,” replied Peggy sorrowfully, as she returned the embrace. “’Tis dreadful.”
“And what is thee going to do anent it? Why, Peggy Owen! surely thee hasn’t been coolly picking flowers?”
“I had to do something, Sally, to while away the time until they come back,” apologized Peggy meekly. “Waiting is trying when so much depends upon the issue.”
“Whatever is thee talking about?” demanded Sally bewildered. “Sit down here under this tree, Peggy, and tell me all about everything. Whom does thee mean by they?”
“Father and Harriet, Sally. They have gone over to see the Congress to see if aught can be done for Clifford.”
“Harriet?” ejaculated Sally. “I thoughtthat Harriet was in New York City with her father. How did she come here?”
“I’ll tell thee all about it,” answered Peggy, sinking down beside Sally under a tree. Forthwith she told her friend everything that had happened since leaving Philadelphia, beginning with the meeting with Harriet on the road to Lancaster, and ending with the journey back to the city after Clifford had been chosen as the unfortunate victim. Sally listened attentively.
“Oh!” she breathed when Peggy had concluded her narrative. “And does thee think the Congress will do anything for him, Peggy?”
“I fear not,” answered Peggy sadly. “Father hath little hope of it, but Harriet will leave naught undone that promises the least relief. If Congress does nothing, we are to go on to General Washington. In any event Harriet will go to New York to see the British general.”
“Well, General Washington ought to do something,” cried Sally. “He hath a kind heart, and it does seem awful to hang Clifford when he had naught to do with Fairfax’s death. Doesn’t thee think he will?”
“Sally,” spoke Peggy earnestly, “there is but one thing that can save Clifford Owen: that is for the English commander to give up Captain Lippencott. That he hath heretofore refused to do.”
“Oh, Peggy! then thee believes that he must die?” came from Sally in a sob.
“I am afraid so, Sally. Clifford himself thinks there is no hope.”
For a time Sally sat very still, then she spoke softly:
“Peggy!”
“Yes, Sally.”
“Did thee tell Clifford about me? How I did not betray him to Sheriff Will?”
“I tried to, but he would not listen. Harriet took him to task for it, Sally. She told him that if thee said thee did not betray him, thee didn’t.” And Peggy related all that had passed regarding the matter.
“Then he will die believing that I was a false friend to thee, and that I betrayed him who was a guest of my hospitality,” remarked the girl mournfully. “Oh, ’tis bitter to be misjudged! ’Tis bitter!” And to Peggy’s astonishment she burst into tears.
“Why, Sally! I did not know thee cared so much,” cried Peggy.
“I—I don’t,” flashed Sally. “At least, not much. ’Tis only—only that I do not like to be misjudged. And I’ve never been given so much as a chance to defend myself. Oh, dear!” dabbing her eyes viciously with her kerchief as she spoke, “I don’t suppose they can help it, but of all stubborn, unreasonable creatures on this earth I do think Englishmen are the worst! I’d just like one chance to tell Clifford Owen so.”
“Well, why doesn’t thee?” asked Peggy suddenly.
“Peggy!” Sally sat up very straight and stared at her. “Just what does thee mean?”
“Just what I say, Sally. He is at the Bunch of Grapes. If thee wishes to see him I will take thee there. Then thee can have thy chance.”
“But—but——” The color flooded Sally’s face from brow to chin. Presently she laughed. “Well, he couldn’t run away from me, could he? He would have to listen. I’ll do it. ’Twill be the last opportunity I shall ever have of clearing myself. I wouldnot dare do it only, being bound, he cannot help but listen. Come, Peggy!”
“Bound?” exclaimed Peggy amazed. “What put such a notion in thy head, Sally? He was not when we came from Lancaster.”
“That was because he was riding. ’Tis only since he entered the city. Did thee not know that the Minister of War hath charge of him now? ’Tis he who hath insisted upon extra precautions being taken on account of the Tories. ’Tis talked everywhere on the streets, Peggy, that he is bound.”
Peggy instantly became troubled.
“That would be severe treatment,” she said. “Methought ’twas understood that he was to be granted every indulgence consistent with his safe-keeping. I like not to think of him being bound. Let’s go, Sally.”
Quickly they made themselves ready, and then proceeded to the Bunch of Grapes Tavern in Third Street. Sally alternated between timidity and assurance.
“With the shadow of death upon him he ought to wish to right every injustice that he hath done,” she remarked as they reached the inn.
Peggy caught sight of Major Gordon just then, and did not reply. Instead she called to the British officer. He came to them instantly.
“May we see Captain Williams for a few moments, sir?” she asked.
“I’ll see, Miss Peggy,” he answered. “You know, of course, that he is guarded more stringently here than he was on the road, but I think there can be no objection to his friends seeing him.”
“Tell him ’tis his cousin, Margaret, and——”
“Don’t thee tell him who is with thee, Peggy.” Sally’s whispered admonition was plainly audible. She had all at once become fearful. “If he were not bound I would not dare venture in.”
A puzzled look crossed Major Gordon’s face. He turned to her quickly. “May I ask why you would not venture in unless he were bound?” he asked.
“Because,” uttered Sally blushing, “if he isn’t bound he will not listen to what I have to say. I want to explain something that he ought to know. He would never listen before; now he cannot help himself.”
A violent fit of coughing seized the officer, preventing him from replying. Presently recovering he cleared his throat, and left them precipitantly. He was gone but a few moments.
“You may see him for a short time, ladies,” he reported. “This way.”
They followed him into a large room situated at the end of a long hall. The first thing the girls saw was Clifford, who was half sitting, half reclining in a chair. And his feet and hands were wound about with cords. Peggy felt a catch in her throat as she saw it, while Sally turned white to the lips. The room was scantily furnished, and several dragoons lounged about, but for all their apparent negligence they never for one moment ceased to regard their prisoner. The youth himself looked wan and haggard. He greeted Peggy with marked pleasure.
“And where is Harriet, my cousin?” he asked.
“She hath gone with father to see the Congress,” replied Peggy. “And here is Sally, Clifford. ’Tis for her sake that we have come. She wishes to speak with thee.”
“You wish speech with me, Mistress Sally?” questioned he coldly. “Wherefore?”
“Thee is to die,” burst from Sally with emotion. “I could not bear for thee to die believing that I had betrayed thee.”
“I am to die, yes,” he said with settled calm. “What have such things to do with me?”
“Everything,” she answered shrilly. “If I had to die, Clifford Owen, I should want to right whatever of injustice I had done, were it possible to do so. And thee has been unjust to me. I have come hoping that now thee will listen to my explanation. Thee wouldn’t hear Peggy, thee wouldn’t hear Mr. Owen, but now thee will listen to me, won’t thee?”
“I don’t see how I can help myself, mistress,” he responded grimly. “Seeing that my hands are bound, I cannot stop my ears.”
And at this Peggy marveled anew. Closely guarded the youth had been all the way into Philadelphia. Major Gordon had spoken of an increase in vigilance since entering the city, but to bind him! Americans were not usually so unkind. The change in treatment puzzled her.
“Why should they bind thee?” ejaculated Sally in reply to Clifford. “’Tis cruel!”
“I thought that you wished me bound, Miss Sally,” he observed gravely.
“We-ell! I don’t wish thee bound, Friend Clifford, but thee would not listen to me unless thee were. Do—do the thongs hurt thee very much?”
Now when an exceedingly pretty girl pities a man for any discomfort he is undergoing it would be an abnormal being who did not get out of it all that he could. And Sally, with her hair escaping from under her cap in soft little tendrils, her blue eyes wet with tears of compassion like violets drenched with dew, made a bewitching picture. So Clifford pulled a long face, and said lugubriously:
“It’s pretty bad, mistress.”
“Oh!” she cried. “I wish I could help thee. ’Tis monstrously cruel to use thee so! Yet thee would not listen to me if thee were not bound; would thee?”
“Perchance ’twould be best to take advantage of the fact, and tell me what you have come to say,” he suggested with the hint of a smile.
And rapidly Sally told him how the wretched mistake had occurred which led him to disbelieve her truthfulness. She told also of the Council and what had happened before it. All this part he had heard from Mr. Owen, though he did not tell her.
“And now,” she ended with a deep sigh of relief, “thee knows at last just how the matter was.”
“Well? And what then?” Clifford was smiling now. “Now you wish me to acknowledge how wrong I was, I suppose?”
“Nay,” spoke Sally rising. “I did not want anything except for thee to hear the facts. ’Twould be too much to ask of an Englishman to admit that he was wrong. ’Tis a national characteristic to persist in wrong-doing, and wrong believing even when the right is made plain. Had this not been the case we should not have had to go through all these weary years of fighting.”
“’Fore George, Mistress Sally, but you hit from the shoulder! Now here is one Englishman who is going to prove that you are mistaken. It was unjust of me to believe that you could be capable of treachery. I craveyour pardon most humbly. I believe that you did your best to help me last spring. These past few days, since I have known that death is so close, have made me look differently at many things. If you think of me at all in future, Miss Sally, let it be as gently as you can.”
He rose as he finished speaking, lightly throwing aside the cords that confined his wrists and ankles, and held out his hand to her with his most winning smile. Much moved Sally placed her hand within his; then, with an exclamation, she withdrew it suddenly.
“Why!” she cried. “Why, thee isn’t bound at all!”
“No? Well, you see I understood that you would not dare to come in unless I was bound. Of course, rather than cause you annoyance I had to pretend to be so.”
The youth was laughing now, and Peggy, mightily relieved to find that such harsh treatment was not to be accorded him, laughed also. Not so Sally. She stood regarding him with eyes in which slowly grew an expression of pain and scorn.
“Now you aren’t going to hold it against me, are you, Miss Sally?” he pleaded.
“When I asked thee if the bonds hurt, thee said, ‘Pretty bad,’” stated Sally, her manner full of accusation.
“I did,” he admitted.
“It was not true,” she cried. “And thee is to die! To die, and yet thee could stoop to trickery! Oh, how could thee do it? Thou art under the shadow of death. I would rather a thousand times that thee would have remained the obstinate Englishman that I deemed thee than to know that thee could do this.”
With that she flung up her head, and without another glance in his direction went swiftly out of the room.