Peggy Owen at Yorktown

CHAPTER III—A GLIMPSE OF CLIFFORD

When at length the two maidens started forth in the early afternoon they found that the news of the victory at the Cowpens was upon every tongue. The streets were filled with an eager, joyous crowd of people, all discussing the intelligence with mingled emotions of incredulity and delight. Slumbering patriotism awoke to new ardor, and despairing hearts thrilled anew with hope. From the depths of discouragement the pendulum swung to the other extreme, and all sorts of brilliant achievements were prophesied for the army in the South under Greene.

“How soberly they take the news,” observed Harriet as they passed a group of men who were quietly discussing the event. “See how gravely, almost sadly, those men are talking. In London we make a great ado when our soldiers win a victory.”

“But those are Friends, Harriet. See, thee can tell by their drab clothes and low, broad-brimmed beavers. And being such are therefore neutral. Neutrals do not rejoice at a Continental victory any more than—than some other people,” she added with roguish insinuation. “Those who are not of the sect are hilarious enough. Of a truth it doth seem as though their gladness verged on the unseemly.”

“That’s just it,” said the other accusingly. “You, and I doubt not many others in this city of Penn, think the least bit of exuberance a sin.”

“It hath not been so of late, Harriet. Indeed it doth seem as though, since thy people held the city, that we would never regain our old peacefulness.”

“I liked New York better than this,” went on the English girl peevishly. “There was so much more gayety.”

“But we are considered the more intellectual,” spoke Peggy quickly, who could not bear to hear the least aspersion against her beloved city. “’Tis often commented upon by those who come among us. Shall we turn into High Street, Harriet? Or does thee prefer to keep down Chestnut?”

“High Street by all means, Peggy. I think it would be the finest street in the world if it were not for the markets in the middle of it.”

“Does thee?” cried Peggy much pleased. “Why, I thought thee didn’t like Philadelphia?”

“I do like the city. The streets are so broad and regular, and these footways are like those we have in London. ’Tis the people that are not to my liking.” The girl sighed.

For a moment Peggy could not answer for indignation; then, choking back a crushing retort, she replied sagely:

“The people are well enough, Harriet. ’Tis thy feeling which is not right. Thee certainly has the megrims to-day.”

“Is not that Mr. Morris’s house?” asked Harriet as they reached the southeast corner of High and Front Streets.

“Yes,” replied Peggy gazing mournfully at the mansion indicated. “’Twas there also that General Arnold lived when he had charge of the city. I went there to one of his teas, Harriet. The city rang with his prowess at that time. Next to General Washington I liked him best of any of our generals, though I like not to speak of him now. Thy general, Sir William Howe, lived there when thy people held Philadelphia.”

“Ah!” said Harriet surveying the residence more intently. “So that is where he lived, is it? ’Tis a fine dwelling.”

“Mr. Morris hath made many improvements since he bought it, though it hath always been considered one of the best in the city,” Peggy informed her.

“He is very rich, isn’t he, Peggy?”

“He is said to be, Harriet, and is, I doubt not. He hath such great skill in financial matters that ’tis no wonder. The Congress hath put him in charge of the nation’s finances, I hear, and many hope that he will put our money upon a firm basis. He hath already been of great service to the patriots in advancing money, and he hath advised many of our people concerning investments. ’Tis owing to him that mother hath prospered of late,” concluded the girl warmly. “See the vessels, Harriet.”

They had turned now into Front Street, and stopped to look at the broad river filled with ice-floes. Out of the long length of the street upward of two hundred quays opened, forming so many views terminated by vessels of different sizes. There were three hundred at the time in the harbor disputing possession with the huge cakes of floating ice.

“And when the British left in ’78 they left us not one bark,” went on Peggy after they had stood for a moment in silence.

“I wonder,” spoke Harriet musingly, “I wonder why England doth not send a great fleet over here to ravage this entire seaboard? If all these large towns could be so attacked at one time the revolted colonies would be conquered at once, and an end put to the rebellion.”

“It would not conquer us,” declared Peggy stoutly. “I have heard some say that with General Washington at their head they would retire beyond the mountains, and fight from there. Thee can never conquer us, Harriet.”

Harriet made no reply, and they resumed the walk toward Poole’s Bridge. A throng of promenaders, skaters and sliders filled the banks and glided over the smooth ice of Pegg’s Run, as the extensive marsh which lay beyond the high table-land north of Callowhill Street was called.

This high waste ground had some occasional slopes down which some hundreds of boys were coasting. The whole area was a great ice pond on which it seemed as though all the skating population of Philadelphia had congregated. The city had long been preëminent in the sport. At this time her skaters were considered the most expert and graceful in the world, and the girls soon became absorbed in watching them as they mingled together and darted about, here and there.

“Are there none but boys and men?” questioned Harriet presently.

“’Tis not esteemed delicate for females to skate,” Peggy informed her. “Though,” she added lowering her voice instinctively, “we girls of the Social Select Circle used to slip off where none could see, and practice it. Sally Evans got so skilled that she excelled in the ‘High Dutch,’ and I could cut my name on the ice, but alas for Betty Williams. She could hardly stand on her skates, and we were always having to help her up from a tumble.”

“Is thee talking about me, Peggy?” demanded a voice, and Peggy gave a little cry of welcome as she turned to find Betty Williams standing behind her. “Hasn’t thee anything better to do than to tell of thy friends’ failings? And what is this I hear? That the express from the Cowpens is staying at thy house? Is he friend of thine? What luck thee has, Peggy.”

“Thou shalt come and meet him for thyself, Betty. Yes; he is an old friend, Lieutenant John Drayton. Surely thee remembers hearing me speak of him?”

“A lieutenant? Charmante! I dote on army men,” cried Betty rapturously. “I remember now about him. Does thee know him also, Harriet?”

“Yes,” answered Harriet curling her lip. “He is a pretty fellow enough, and will never swing for the lack of a tongue. Lieutenant Drayton is no favorite of mine, though Peggy and her mother are fond of him.”

“Yes; mother and I are fond of him,” spoke Peggy with some sharpness, quick to resent a slur against one of her friends. “Perhaps he is deficient in the court manners to which my cousin hath been accustomed, but he treats even an enemy with courtesy, and thee has had no cause to complain of him, Harriet. Would that he could say as much for thee.”

“Where was his courtesy when I asked him to return that shirt?” demanded Harriet. “A true courtier would not have kept it after I had expressed a wish for its return.”

“Thee should not have presented it if thee did not wish him to keep it.”

“What ever are you girls talking about?” demanded Betty with eager inquisitiveness. “Tell me all anent the matter. What shirt? Tell me this minute else I will perish with curiosity. That is, if ’tis no secret.

“Oh!” she cried merrily as with some laughter and many details both Harriet and Peggy unfolded the matter of the shirt. “Oh, Harriet! what a rout! I blame thee not for not liking him. How he discomfited thee! I’m so anxious to meet him. Does thee know Robert Dale, Harriet? We girls have always esteemed him the very nicest boy in the world. By the way, Peggy, father wrote that Robert hath been put in General Lafayette’s division. The Select Corps ’tis called. ’Tis monstrous distinction.”

“How?” asked Harriet. “I know him not though it seems as though I should, I have heard so much anent him. How is the Select Corps distinctive?”

“As though thee did not know,” cried Betty incredulously. “Had I spent as much time with both armies as thee and Peggy have there would be naught about anything military that I did not know. But, for fear that the Select Corps is the one thing lacking in thy knowledge of camp, I will tell thee that its members are taken from the whole army for the active part of a campaign. The Select Corps is always in advance of the main army, and has the right to make the first attack on the enemy. ’Tis of vast distinction to be of it, and Robert must have proved himself valorous else he would not have been honored by being placed in it.”

“But ’tis a position of danger as well as honor, Betty,” remarked Peggy.

“If Mr. Washington does no more fighting than he hath done for the past few years your Robert Dale will be in no danger,” observed Harriet, who was certainly in a bad mood for the day.

“Oh, as to that,” retorted Betty airily, “we manage to get in a victory often enough to keep up our spirits. Really, Harriet, I do wish thee could meet Robert.”

“And I wish that you both could meet my brother, Clifford,” cried Harriet. “Why, none of the youths in the rebel camp at Middlebrook could compare with him in looks. He is so handsome, and noble, and brave. Oh, I do wish that I could see him!” she ended, a pathetic quaver coming into her voice.

“Thee has not seen him since thee came to America, has thee?” asked Betty. Peggy, whose gentle heart was touched by the feeling her cousin exhibited, forgot how trying she had been, and pressed her hand tenderly.

“No, Betty. He left home soon after father came to join General Gage in Boston. When we were in New York City father had Sir Henry Clinton to go over the rosters of the different regiments to see if we could locate him, but we could find no trace of him. I did not mind so much until since I have been ill, but now I want to see him so much.”

“Does he look like Cousin William, Harriet?” asked Peggy.

“No; he is more like your father than mine. Father says that Cousin David is like my grandfather, and Clifford is the living representative of the picture of grandfather.”

“If he is like father he must be all that thee claims for him,” spoke Peggy warmly. “I should dearly like to see him, Harriet, and perhaps thee will hear of him soon. If he is in this country anywhere with the British army thee will surely hear of him in time. Don’t grieve.”

“If thee does find him I hope that he will come to Philadelphia,” laughed Betty, who had put up her hair and adopted young lady airs. “I like nice boys, be they English or American.”

“Or French,” put in Peggy slyly. “I’ve heard that thee takes a lesson each morning from one of the aides of Monsieur de la Luzerne, the French minister. Thee needs to be dealt with, Betty.”

“Peggy Owen, Sally hath been telling thee tales out of school,” cried Betty, her face flushing. “When did thee see her?”

“A hit! A hit!” laughed Peggy. “How thee mantles, Betty. Know then that I stayed with Sallie last night, and thereby increased my knowledge as to several matters. She said——”

“I must be going,” uttered Betty hastily. “Good-bye, girls. Come and see me, Harriet, but leave thy cousin at home.”

She darted away before Peggy could call out the merry retort that rose to her lips. Then the maiden turned to Harriet.

“And ’twould be wise for us to go too, Harriet,” she said. “The air begins to grow chill, and thee must not take cold. See! many of the skaters and promenaders are leaving, and soon there will be none left. I did not know that ’twas so late. Is thee tired?”

“No; I believe that the walk hath done me good,” answered Harriet, who did look better. “Still I feel a little cold. Let us walk fast, Peggy.”

Recrossing the bridge they left the gay throng and started briskly down the narrow footway of Front Street. Suddenly the clatter of hoofs was heard, and the maidens turned to see a party of American horse approaching from the direction of Frankford. They were riding at speed, and the girls drew close to the curb of the walk to see them pass. As the dragoons drew near they saw that they were escorting a number of British prisoners.

“Hath there been another battle?” asked Harriet, growing pale.

“I think not,” answered Peggy. “There is always an express to tell of it, if there hath been, before the prisoners come. These are not from the Cowpens, Harriet. They could not be, and come from that direction.”

“True,” said Harriet. “I wonder if the main army hath engaged with our troops? Oh, I like not to see our men made prisoners!”

Peggy made no reply, and in silence the two watched the troopers. As they came opposite to the place where the maidens stood one of the prisoners, a young fellow, leaned over and said something to the trooper next him. Then, with a light laugh he turned his face full upon them, and lifted his hat with jaunty grace.

As he did so Harriet sprang forward with an amazed cry:

“Clifford! Clifford! Clifford!”

CHAPTER IV—A STRANGE PRESENTIMENT

“Is thee sure that it was he, Harriet?” questioned Peggy who had been amazed at what had taken place.

“Did I not see him? And did you not hear him speak? I could not tell what he said. Could you? He is a prisoner. I must get to him. Come! we must go faster, Peggy, so that we can see where they take him.”

By this time the dragoons had turned into one of the cross streets, and when the girls reached the place of turning they had passed out of sight.

“I wish Cousin David were here. He would know what to do,” cried Harriet greatly excited. “Couldn’t we send for him, Peggy?”

“Father couldn’t leave the army now, Harriet, as thee knows. Besides, it would take long to send for him, and thy brother might be gone before he could get here. We must find John. He will know what to do.”

“Then let us hurry, hurry,” exclaimed the English girl clasping her hands convulsively together.

Lieutenant Drayton was just ascending the steps of the Owens’ dwelling as they reached Fourth Street, but catching sight of them he ran down the stoop to join them.

“The Congress hath but this moment finished with me,” he said, “so that it was impossible for me to come to Pegg’s Run. Was the skating fine? I should like to have seen it, and to have taken a turn—— Why! what hath happened?” he broke off, all at once becoming aware of their perturbation. “You both seem somewhat upset.”

“’Tis Harriet’s brother,” explained Peggy seeing that her cousin was unable to speak. “A party of American horse came from the North bringing in some prisoners, and Harriet saw her brother, Clifford, among them. She called to him, but they would not let him stop. They turned into Arch Street, and we lost sight of them.”

“When did it happen, Peggy?”

“But now, John. Just as we were leaving Pegg’s Run. Could thee find where they went?”

“Oh, Lieutenant Drayton, will you find him for me?” entreated Harriet.

“I will try, Mistress Harriet. If he is to stay in the city, he will be put in one of the jails. If he is to go on to the interior the party would stop at one of the inns for the night, as ’tis now too late in the day to go further. The thing to do will be to go to the jails, and if he be not there, to make the round of the inns. Be not over-anxious. If he is to be found, and surely ’twill be an easy matter, I will soon bring you word of it.”

He lifted his beaver as he finished speaking, and left them. The two girls went slowly into the dwelling, and reported the affair to Mrs. Owen.

“John will find him, Harriet,” said the lady soothingly. “That is, of course, if he stays in the city, and as the lad says, the troopers will of a certainty stop here for the night. Try to occupy thyself until his return. He will do everything he can to find thy brother. Should he be found then we will try to get his release in some manner; but now busy thyself about something. Thee is too much agitated, and will make thyself ill again.”

“I know not what to do,” objected Harriet sinking into her favorite seat on the settle before the fire. “What shall I do, Peggy?”

“Read to me from that poem, Harriet,” suggested Peggy, bringing the volume to her cousin. “Thee was to do that this morning when John came with news of the battle. ’Twill make the time pass more quickly.”

“I would rather talk,” said Harriet, turning the leaves of the book rapidly. “I do not believe that a poem will content me. A tale would be more enthralling. Still there are some beautiful passages, and I will try some of them. Here is one that is considered one of the finest in the poem. Father read it to me once.”

With a voice rendered more expressive than usual by reason of her unwonted emotion Harriet read that wonderful and pathetic invocation to light with which the blind poet begins the third canto of his immortal poem:

“‘Hail, holy Light, offspring of heaven first-born.’”

She was fond of poetry, and fond also of reading it aloud; so that soon her attention was caught by the musical cadence of the verse. Peggy watched her, amazed at the transition that now took place. She who had been so agitated and anxious a few moments before was absorbed by the rhythm of the poem. Her eyes kindled; her cheeks flushed, and her accents became sonorous:

                                    “‘Thus  with  the  year
    Seasons  return,  but  not  to  me  returns
    Day,  or  the  sweet  approach  of  even  or  morn,
    Or  sight  of  vernal  bloom,  or  summer’s  rose,
    Or  flocks,  or  herds,  or  human  face  divine;
    But  cloud  instead  and  ever  during  dark
    Surrounds  me——’

“Oh!” screamed the girl, suddenly letting the book fall to the floor as she pressed her hands to her eyes. “The dark! The dark!”

“What is it?” cried Peggy running to her. “What is the matter, Harriet?”

“Oh, I shall be blind! I shall be blind,” broke from Harriet in agonized tones. “I know I shall. It came to me just now. Oh, Peggy! Peggy!”

“What a fancy!” cried Peggy giving her a little shake. “Thee is all upset, Harriet. Mother must give thee some Jesuits’ Bark.”

“But I shall be,” moaned the girl. “I know that it will happen.”

“Thy sight will dim with age, of course,” said Peggy in a matter-of-fact tone. “Just as mine will, and as mother’s hath already done. Then we will both wear bridge glasses, unless we use the spectacles with wire supports which Dr. Franklin hath invented. And thou wilt look at me over them; like this.”

She tucked her chin down on her breast, and looked at her cousin so drolly that Harriet laughed through her tears.

“That’s better,” approved Peggy. “Thine eyes are all right, Harriet. I see naught wrong with them save that they are much prettier than mine; which is not at all to my liking.”

Again Harriet laughed, well pleased with the compliment.

“I do believe that you are right, Peggy,” she said. “I am full of fancies. But oh! you don’t know how I felt for a few moments.” She shivered, and passed one hand lightly over her eyes. “I’ve read that passage often, but never before did it affect me so. I could see the dark, the ‘ever-during dark,’ about me; and it came to me that I should be blind.”

“Don’t talk of it. Don’t even think about it,” said Peggy soothingly. “As I said, thee is all upset over thy brother, and therefore is prone to imagine many things. ’Tis lowness of mind that causes it. Now while we wait for John, we will make mother let us get the supper. Thou shalt make the chocolate, Harriet. In that thee excels.”

And in this manner, talking to her as though she were a little child, Peggy beguiled her cousin into forgetfulness of her strange foreboding.

CHAPTER V—A DAY OF NOTE

“No,” he said in answer to Harriet’s eager questioning. “I found him not. I went to both the old and the new jails, but he was in neither. In fact, no prisoners have been received for some days. I then made the rounds of the taverns, but no such party was stopping at any of them. There was but one trace to be found: some of the loungers about the inns said that a party of horse was seen in the late afternoon riding toward the lower ferry. I will inquire in that direction to-morrow. ’Tis not customary to travel at night with prisoners, unless the need is urgent. I wonder that a stop for the night was not made in the city.”

The dragoons had passed through the city, as the lieutenant found the next day; and, crossing the Schuylkill at Gray’s Ferry had gone on to the Blue Bell Tavern, putting up there for the night. They were up and away early the next morning.

“Then how shall I find him?” queried Harriet as Drayton imparted this information to her. “Lieutenant, you are an officer in the army; tell me how to find my brother. I ought not to ask this of you, I know. I haven’t always been kind or pleasant, but if you will only help me in this, I’ll—I’ll——Peggy, help me to plead with him.”

“There is no need to plead, mistress,” responded he quickly. “If I can be of service to you, it will be a pleasure. I will do what I can to find him. If he is an officer the task will be much easier. If I hear aught concerning him I will send you word at once. ’Twas said at the Blue Bell that the party was for the South, and if so, it may be that I shall overtake it. I leave to-morrow if the despatches of Congress are ready.”

“So soon?” exclaimed Peggy in dismay. “Why, thee came but yesterday, John.”

“A soldier’s time is never his own, Peggy. It hath been delightful to have even these few days. After the hard marching of the past weeks ’tis like an oasis in the desert to tarry in a real home. From all I hear we are likely to be on the move for some time to come. ’Twas openly talked in camp, before I left, that ’twas our general’s plan to draw my Lord Cornwallis as far from his base of supplies as possible. If that be true we shall do naught but march for some time to come. This is a good rest for me.”

“If thy stay is so short then we must see that ’tis made as pleasant as possible,” declared Mrs. Owen. And from that moment the three, for Harriet threw off her depression and was once more the charming girl that she had been at Middlebrook, devoted themselves so successfully to his entertainment that Drayton declared that it was well that he had a horse to carry him away; for he would never leave of his own volition.

“It hath been delightful,” he reiterated as he was about to depart. “I doubt that ’tis good for me to have so much pampering. ’Twill give me a desire to play the messenger at all times, and make me long for comforts that are not to be found in camp, or on the march. You shall hear from me soon, Mistress Harriet. Even though I should not overtake your brother and the dragoons still you shall have word of it.”

With that he was gone. Life with its duties resumed its accustomed routine at the Owens’ dwelling with the exception that Harriet seemed much improved. The interest in her brother was the thing needful to arouse her, and she daily gained in strength. The two horses, Star and Fleetwood, were brought from the stables, and the girls with Tom as groom again rode whenever the weather was pleasant. And so a week passed. February was folded away in the book of years, and March was upon them; but if Drayton had overtaken the horsemen on his way South they had received no word.

“How warm the sun is,” exclaimed Harriet as she and Peggy were returning from a long ride on the first of the month. “Were it not that I might receive word from Lieutenant Drayton about Clifford, I would suggest that we turn about and go on to Chestnut Hill. It would be pleasant to be out all afternoon.”

“Nay,” demurred Peggy. “The distance to Chestnut Hill makes it not to be thought of. Besides, dinner is at two, and mother wished us to be home in time for that. Though it is pleasant.”

It was pleasant. The storm month had begun his sway with the mildness of the proverbial lamb. The air held just enough of keenness to be bracing, and the sky was blue with the blueness of May. There was the promise of spring in the woods. The almost dead silences of winter had disappeared. The song of the occasional robin was heard; the flutter of wings, and the almost silent noises of the trees and thickets, evidenced in the swelling buds of the bare branches.

The Germantown road was a favorite ride with them, and this day they stopped often to exclaim over the spaciousness of the landscape which the leafless trees admitted to their view.

“Do you think that I will hear to-day, Peggy?” asked her cousin wistfully after one of these stops.

“I know not, Harriet. John will let thee know as soon as he can, for he promised. I would not think so much anent it, if I were thee. What is the saying? ‘A watched pot never boils.’ Is not that it?”

“I can’t help it, Peggy. If Clifford were not a prisoner I would not care so much. Just as soon as I find where he is I must try to secure his release. I know that Sir Henry Clinton would get him exchanged if I should ask it. I will write to him.”

Instantly Peggy was troubled. She feared Harriet’s activities. The council of the state was alert and watchful, and would tolerate no communications of any sort with the enemy. In fact, several women, wives and relatives of Tories in New York and other points within the British lines, had recently been arrested for this very fault. So it was a very grave face the maiden turned to her cousin.

“Harriet,” she said, “does thee remember the trouble that we got into at Middlebrook by trying to pass letters to Sir Henry? Thee must not try to pass any letters here.”

“But this is different, Peggy,” protested the other girl eagerly. “I’m not going to do any spy work. I learned a lesson at that time that I shall never forget. You have my word, Peggy. I shall not break it. The only thing I should write would be but a line to ask for Clifford’s exchange. There could be no harm in that.”

“If thee sends a letter of any sort, Harriet, thee must first take it to Mr. Joseph Reed, the president of the council. If he sees no objection to it then he will send it through for thee. If thee does not care to go to him, mother would attend to it for thee. ’Twould be best to leave the matter with her in any case. She would do everything that could be done.”

“But the army is not here,” expostulated Harriet, who evidently had the matter strongly in mind. “I see no reason why I should submit my letter to Mr. Reed. There could be naught to report of war matters from Philadelphia. ’Tis not as it was at Middlebrook.”

“Is it not?” queried Peggy. “Why, Harriet, the enemy want all knowledge that can be had of the movements of Congress. Philadelphia is the center of the government. Whatever transpires here is of great interest to Sir Henry. Therefore, the rules regarding letters are rigid. Thee must not attempt it, Harriet.”

“Well, well, have it your own way,” returned Harriet lightly. “I think you make too much of such a small thing, Peggy, but the affair can be arranged when Clifford’s whereabouts become known. So we will say no more about it.”

There was nothing that could be said, so Peggy held her peace; but she thought deeply. She would tell her mother, she resolved, and they would see that no communication was had with the British that was not through the regular channels. But what a responsibility these English cousins were, she mused, and so musing sighed heavily.

“Wherefore the sigh, cousin mine?” quizzed Harriet, bending low over her saddle to look into Peggy’s eyes. “Is it because you are afraid of what I shall do? Fie, for shame! ’Tis you who are beset by fancies now. Fear nothing, Peggy. I shall bring no further trouble upon you. Is that what you were worrying about?”

“Yes,” confessed Peggy frankly. “It was, Harriet.”

“Then think of it no more. Have I not said that no trouble shall come to you? And there shall not. But a truce to seriousness. ’Tis much too fine for worry. Is not that a robin redbreast, Peggy?”

“Yes, Harriet. I have noticed several since we began our ride. ’Twill soon be spring. And it should be; for it is the first of Third month.”

And so the topic of the letter was put aside for the time, and the maidens rode on through the trees chatting pleasantly. Suddenly the dull boom of a cannon smote their ears.

“A battle! A battle!” cried Harriet excitedly as they drew rein to listen. “Oh, what if our people have attacked the city?”

“Nay,” spoke Peggy. “’Tis more like that there is something to celebrate. Listen! Does thee not hear bells?”

“I wonder what it can be?” exclaimed Harriet. “I hope that ’tis not another victory for the rebels.”

“Let us hasten, Harriet. We can find out in no other way.” Peggy called to Tom, and they set forward at speed.

The noise became a din as they entered the city. Cannon boomed from the shipping on the Delaware, and artillery thundered on the land. All the bells in the city were ringing. Hoarse shouts filled the air, and upon every side there were manifestations of joy.

“Oh, what can it be?” exclaimed Peggy with some excitement. “I wish we knew.”

A short, thick-set little man, of dark, swarthy complexion was just crossing Front Street toward one of the quays as she spoke. He turned as he heard the exclamation, and came toward them.

“If you do not know, lassie, let me tell you,” he said with a deep obeisance. “’Tis a great day. A great day, and will go down in history as such. Know then that this morning the last state ratified the Articles of Confederation, and by that act the Union becomes perpetual.”

“Have they done it at last?” cried she. “Why, it hath been debated and discussed so long that we feared ’twould never happen. I did not know ’twas to occur to-day.”

“Nor did any of us,” returned he genially. “I fancy that it took even the Congress by surprise. ’Twas announced at noon, by a discharge of artillery, the signal agreed upon. I am going now to add my quota to the rejoicing by firing a feu de joie from my ship yonder.”

He indicated a frigate beautifully decorated with a variety of streamers anchored just off the quay.

“The ‘Ariel,’” read Harriet, at which Peggy opened her eyes wide.

“If that is thy ship then thee must be that John Paul Jones who fought that wonderful battle with the ‘Serapis’ two years ago,” ejaculated she. For the “Ariel” was the vessel which was given that gallant officer in place of the “Bon Homme Richard” which had been so battered in that memorable engagement that it had sunk two days after the fight.

“The very same,” he answered with a profound courtesy. “The very same, at your service, ladies.”

“And thou hast stopped to give us information just as though thee was an ordinary man,” she said in so awed a tone that he burst out laughing.

“Well, and why not? Could I not give it as correctly as another? I am honored to be of service.”

He swept them another courtesy, and a little confused by the meeting the two girls thanked him, and rode on.

On every hand the citizens demonstrated the importance of the happy occasion. At two o’clock in the afternoon, the President of Congress received congratulations. At night the evening was ushered in by an elegant display of fireworks while the gentlemen of Congress, the civil and military officers, and many of the principal citizens partook of a collation spread for them at the City Tavern.

The first great step toward making the union permanent was taken. There were many pitfalls awaiting the young nation ere one republic could be moulded out of thirteen sovereign states. There were concessions to be made, mistakes corrected, in later years a baptism of blood, before E Pluribus Unum could be properly the motto of the new United States. But the first step toward becoming a nation among the nations was taken when the states entered into a firm league of friendship on this day for their common defense, the security of their liberties and their mutual general welfare. A people struggling for liberty always become the favorites of heaven, and how far-reaching the links forged between the states was to become was known alone to the Ruler of all.

CHAPTER VI—A MESSAGE OF INDIGNATION

“That were best known by reading it,” suggested Peggy, as her cousin stood holding the letter without breaking the seal. “Open it quickly, Harriet. I am beset with curiosity.”

Without more ado Harriet tore open the epistle. As she did so a sealed enclosure fell to the floor, but she was too intent upon what Drayton had written to notice it for the moment. The latter ran:

“Esteemed and Honored Madam: It is with great pleasure that I take up my pen to inform you that at length I have located your brother; and a lively time it gave me, too. I left Philadelphia, as you doubtless remember, on Friday, but it was not until Sunday night that I overtook the party of American horse who had your brother in charge.

“I had inquired concerning them at every inn on the highway, but they had either passed without stopping or had just left; so that I almost despaired of ever coming up with them. By great good fortune, however, I found them at The Head of the Elk^[3] where I purposed to stay Sunday night. Supper was over, and prisoners and captors sat about the fire in the common room of The Three Lions Tavern when I entered. There were five prisoners in all, and I looked at each one carefully, hoping to recognize your brother by your description of him.

“One, the youngest of the lot, had something strangely familiar about him, and all at once it came to me that he looked like Peggy.”

“It could not have been Clifford, then,” Harriet paused to remark, looking at her cousin wonderingly. “I see no resemblance to you, Peggy.”

“But thee said that he looked like father,” reminded Peggy. “I am like father too, save my eyes and hair, which are dark, like mother’s. If thy brother looks like father ’twould be natural that John should think him like me. Read on, Harriet. Perchance ’twas not he, after all.”

“I was sure then,” continued Harriet, reading, “that this was your brother; so, after obtaining permission from the officer in charge, I approached him and said:

“‘I cry you pardon, sir, but are you Clifford Owen, brother of Mistress Harriet Owen?’

“He looked at me queerly, it seemed to me, before he replied:

“‘I am not he; but if it were my name I see not what concern it is of yours.’

“‘I bear a message to one Clifford Owen,’ I told him. ‘If you are not he of course ’twould be of no moment to you.’

“‘No,’ he said, and seemed disinclined to talk. Seeing him so I left off for a time, but after some chat with the others, I turned to him again.

“‘If you are agreeable, sir, I would fain know your name?’

“‘You are persistent,’ he cried with some heat. ‘I am not the man you seek; then why should you wish my name?’

“‘And why should you not tell it?’ I returned. ‘Unless, perchance, there are reasons for its suppression. We of these states ofttimes have to do with persons who care not for us to know their names.’

“‘It is Wilson Williams, sir,’ he answered, springing to his feet. ‘Now will you cease your questions? I know not why you should pester me with them. Is’t the fashion of Americans to annoy prisoners in such manner?’

“‘Since you are not the man, I will trouble you no further, sir,’ I answered with spirit. Turning my back upon him I began chatting with the others, who seemed not averse to conversation.

“I had a shrewd suspicion that he was Clifford, passing for some reason under another name, so I led the talk to the war and its progress, gradually giving utterance to speeches that grew more and more inflammatory, hoping to make him declare himself under the heat of controversy. I saw that he writhed under the conversation, so at length I observed:

“‘Even you British are coming to our way of thinking. The great Pitt, Charles Fox, and others among you know that ’tis the same spirit that animates us that stirred our common ancestors to resist the oppression of Charles First. None of you can be among us long without acknowledging this. Why, in Philadelphia, there is at this moment an English maiden who was bitter against us when she came among us, but who hath gradually been brought to our manner of belief. As a token of this she hath conferred upon me, an officer of the patriot army, a great mark for her favor.’ This I said, Mistress Harriet, to stir him. You must give me your pardon in the matter, for I thought but to serve you. And when I had said this I went to my saddle-bags which had been placed in a corner of the room, and drew forth the shirt that you had given me.

“‘This hath she made for me,’ I said holding it up to view. ‘And this,’ pointing to the inscription, Harriet Owen a loyal subject of the king, ‘hath caused us much amusement.’ I could not but smile as I held it up, for it came to me that you had said that if it were seen by the English you would know that I had turned my back to the foe. And here it was back to the enemy even before seeing service. The words had no sooner left my lips than here was my young man on his feet. Snatching the garment from my hands he tore it into pieces before I could prevent.

“‘There, sir!’ he cried, tossing the shreds into the fire. ‘No Yankee shall wear a shirt of my sister’s making. If you want satisfaction you shall have it.’

“He clapped his hand to his side for his rapier, but, being a prisoner, of course found it not. ‘A sword!’ he cried furiously. ‘A sword! A sword!’

“‘Sir,’ I said, saluting him, ‘I fight with no prisoner. And now that you have acknowledged that Mistress Harriet Owen is your sister, perchance you will permit me to give you her message. She wished you to inform her of your destination that she might exert herself to secure your release. Write her at Philadelphia, in care of Madam David Owen, who is a cousin of yours, as, I dare say, you know. I make no doubt but that your sister will be able to get you a parole.’

“‘With your aid?’ he fumed. ‘I will rot in prison before I accept aid from a Yankee captain.’

“‘A lieutenant, sir,’ I corrected. ‘By some oversight I have not yet the honor to be a captain. Perchance the matter will be adjusted after our next victory. I will bid you a very good-night, sir.’

“‘Now by my life!’ he cried, flinging himself upon me. ‘You shall not leave this room until I have some satisfaction.’ With that he began belaboring me with his fists. Of course ’twas not in human nature to withstand such an onslaught without a return in kind, so presently here we were on the floor, rolling over and over, and pummeling each other like two schoolboys.

“At length the officer of the troopers and some of the others pulled me off, for I was at the moment on top, having obtained the mastery.

“‘Have done, lieutenant,’ cried the officer. ’Do you want to kill him? I can’t have my prisoner beat up.’

“I got up, rather reluctantly, I must confess, for the young gentleman had been trying and had brought it upon himself, and turned to the others to make excuses. But they all, even his fellow prisoners, were laughing. They had perceived the trick I had used to make him declare himself, and were well pleased with the bout, as no bones were broken, or blood shed. Have no fear either, mistress; save a few bruises and perchance a black eye your brother is no worse hurt than he should be.

“Your brother was sullen, and took the chaff with anything but a good grace; so, after a little, I bade them all good-night and went to my room to write you a report of the matter, which I fear will not be at all to your liking. A little later I heard him calling for inkhorn and powder,^[4] so that if he writes in heat to you, this will inform you of the reason.

“Monday morning.—I did not finish the letter last night, but hasten to do so this morning before starting on my journey South. Early the captain of the dragoons came to me laughing:

“‘Here’s a kettle of fish, Drayton,’ he said. ’The Englishman vows he’ll have your blood. Oh, he’s in a pretty temper. He is pleading for a sword, and hath promised us everything but his life for one. He hath writ to his sister too, and I am to send it. How to do it I know not. If you are in favor with her perchance you can attend to it.’

“‘I can,’ I replied. ‘I have one of my own to send. I am leaving immediately, captain, and after I am gone tell our friend that his sister hath no more liking for me than he seems to have, and but used me for messenger, lacking a better.

“‘I shall tell him naught, I dare not,’ he said. ‘Only go not near him before you leave, lieutenant. I know not what will happen if you do.’

“‘And I know that whatever happens I must have a whole skin for the delivery of my despatches,’ I answered laughing.

“Enclosed please find the letter your brother hath writ, and permit me to thank you for the enjoyableness of this little frisk. If I have gained an enemy, you at least have found a brother; so honors are even. Whenever you have another service to perform you have only to call upon him who subscribes himself

“Your humble and devoted servant,

“John Drayton.

“To  Mistress  Harriet  Owen,
“Philadelphia,  Pa.”

“The wretch!” cried Harriet, throwing the letter to the floor in a pet. “How dare he act so? Oh, I wish that Clifford had run him through. ’Twere well for John Drayton that he had no sword. How dare he flout him in that manner?”

“Softly, softly, my child,” spoke Mrs. Owen mildly, with difficulty suppressing her smiles, while Peggy laughed outright. “Methinks both the lads were at fault, but John wished only to satisfy himself of the other’s identity. And he did serve thee in that, Harriet. But why should Clifford wish to conceal it?”

“I know not,” answered Harriet soberly. “I suppose ’twas because he feared father would make him withdraw from the service should he find him.”

“Mayhap he explains the matter in his letter,” suggested Peggy picking up the neglected enclosure, and handing it to Harriet.

“Oh, yes; the letter,” cried Harriet tearing it open eagerly. “Why!” she exclaimed casting her eye quickly down the page. “He’s angry! Just listen.

“‘And is it true,’” began the missive without heading or beginning of any sort, “‘that Harriet Owen, my sister Harriet, hath so far forgot her duty to her king as to labor in behalf of his rebellious subjects? And such an one as you have chosen to favor, Harriet! Could not the daughter of Colonel William Owen, of the Welsh Fusiliers, find a better object than this whippersnapper of a Yankee captain?

“‘Harriet! Harriet! And has it come to this? Are you a traitor to your country and your king? To make a shirt for a rebel were infamy enough, but to embroider your name across its shoulders that all might see that Harriet Owen, a loyal subject of the king, was so employed surpasses belief.

“‘Harriet, if this be true, if you have forgot what is due yourself, your brother, your father, your country and the most illustrious prince that ever sat upon the throne—if you have forgot your duty to all these, I say, then never more shall I call you sister. Never will I write the name of Clifford Owen again, but go down to my grave under the one I have chosen.

“‘But, my sister, I cannot believe it of you. I cannot believe that so short a time could change you so. Some one other than you must have made that shirt, and this popinjay of a captain—or is it a lieutenant? no matter!—hath stolen it to flaunt before me, and to stir me to anger.

“‘Would that when I saw you in Philadelphia I had stopped, in spite of my captors. It was not permitted, and at the time, I was content that it should be so, for I feared that father might be with you. I dread his displeasure when he meets me; for, as you know, he hath, in truth, great cause to be offended with me. Should the matter have truth in it that you have become imbued with the virus of this rebellion, it may be that a short account of how I have been fighting for the glory of old Britain will bring you back to a realizing sense of your duty.

“‘Know then that when I left you home,—and why did you ever leave there? This country is no place for a girl bred as you have been.—After I had left there, I say, I obtained a commission by the help of Lord Rawdon. I think he knew who I was; we met him once, if you remember, but he said naught about the matter. He saw at once that I wished my identity kept sub rosa, and the army was greatly in need of men. Of course it cost a pretty penny, and I expect a scene with father about it. Pray that I may distinguish myself ere we meet.

“‘I came with Lord Rawdon to the colonies, and have been with him ever since, mostly in the province of Georgia. We conquered that colony and garrisoned Savannah, where you and father would, no doubt, have found me had not that storm driven Sir Henry Clinton elsewhere to land. I was sent to Charlestown after you left for Camden and was stationed there for some months. Then his lordship sent me to New York by sea with letters for General Clinton. I was tired of the Southern climate, and another gladly exchanged with me, and went South while I remained in New York.

“‘There was lately some information to be procured about the rebel forces, and volunteering for the service I was captured by some of the enemy’s scouts. There were a number of British prisoners in the rebel camp, and, as they seem not to be any too well supplied with rations, we prisoners are sent somewhere to the interior to be fed and kept out of the way of mischief. I think our destination is Charlottesville, where the Convention prisoners^[5] are. ’Tis said that there is a regular colony of them at that place, which is, I believe, in the province of Virginia. There is to be a short stop at Fredericksburg before going on to the encampment of prisoners, for what reason I know not. If you will write immediately to that place I think I will receive it.

“‘But, Harriet, dearly as I would love to hear from you, if you have grown to sympathize with these revolted colonies in this broil against the king, if you are false to your country, as that fellow would have me believe, then write me not.

“‘How can one sympathize with such obstinate people as these rebels are? When one is in their company they are barely civil, and that is, as Jack Falstaff says, by compulsion. They seem to grow stronger by every defeat. And why do they? They seem like Antæus, of whom ’twas fabled that being a son of the goddess Tellus, or the earth, every fall he received from Hercules gave him more strength so that the hero was forced to strangle him in his arms at last. Would that our minister could send us a Hercules to conquer these rebels.

“‘If you can secure my release, Harriet, do so. I am quite sure that Sir Henry Clinton, if the matter is brought to his attention, would exert himself regarding an exchange. As you are doubtless aware, an affair of this kind must be kept prominently before the notice of the great ones, else it will be shelved for some other thing that is pressed with more persistence. And yet, if nothing can be accomplished save by the connivance of that captain, lieutenant, or whatever he may be, I would rather a thousand times stay as I am. Write me, if you are still my loyal sister.

“’Wilson Williams

(Clifford Owen).’

“If ever,” spoke Harriet with tears of vexation filling her lovely eyes, “if ever I see that John Drayton again I will give him occasion to remember it. Clifford never wrote such a dreadful letter to me before. Peggy Owen, ’tis no laughing matter.”

“No,” agreed Peggy merrily. “No, ’tis not, Harriet. And yet I cannot help but laugh. I cry thy pardon, my cousin, but, but——” Unable to finish she gave vent to another peal of laughter.