Peggy Owen, Patriot: A Story for Girls

CHAPTER XXVI—THE BATTLE WITH THE ELEMENTS

“’Tis the snow,” he explained irritably. “All roads are buried under four or more feet of it. Landmarks are obliterated and the forest but a trackless waste. ’Tis no wonder the fellow lost his way, though, methinks. ’Twas as though he knew our errand, and kept us floundering among the drifts purposely.”

“Belike he did,” observed Harriet. “What with Peggy feeding all the rabble that comes along ’tis small wonder that your plots and plans become known to the rebels. I bethought me the other day when she had that teamster in the kitchen that he was a spy. Now I make no doubt of it.”

“What’s all this?” demanded her father sharply. “What teamster are you talking about, Harriet?”

“’Twas the man who brought the wood, Cousin William,” explained Peggy, trying to speak quietly. “Harriet objected at the time to his being fed, but ’twould have been unkind not to give him cheer when ’twas so cold.”

“But that is no reason why you should talk with him,” sneered Harriet. “I saw that parley you held when he was throwing off the wood.”

“Did you talk to him, Peggy?” Colonel Owen regarded her keenly.

“Why, yes,” she answered. “I went out to scold him because he was piling the wood in such a way that it could not be measured.”

“There was naught amiss about that,” he remarked with a relieved expression. “Nor about the food either, if that was all there was to it.”

“But was it all?” queried Harriet. “The servants said that Peggy was over-solicitous anent the fellow.”

“Peggy!” Colonel Owen faced the maiden abruptly. “Let us have this matter settled at once. You usually speak truth. Do so in this instance, I beg of you. Was the wood and feeding the man all there was to the affair?”

Peggy did not reply.

“There is more then,” he said. “Your silence speaks for you. I demand now to know if this fellow was responsible for the failure of our plan to captivate the rebel general?”

But Peggy was not going to betray Drayton’s disguise if she could help it, and neither would she speak an untruth. So she met her kinsman’s glance with one as direct as his own as she answered, “I am to blame for thy plan going amiss, Cousin William.”

“You?” he exclaimed incredulously. “Why, you knew naught of it. I was careful that even Harriet should not know it.”

“I was in the drawing-room,” she told him boldly, “when thee and thy commander were discussing the plan. I heard the whole plot. While the dinner was being served I slipped out and sent word to the general.”

“By whom?” he asked controlling his anger with difficulty. “By whom did you send word?”

“That, sir, I will not tell,” responded she resolutely.

“And do you know what this action hath cost me?” he thundered, livid with rage. “A knighthood and fortune. Was not the account long enough betwixt us that you must add this to it? To come here and play the spy in mine own house. ’Tis monstrous!”

“I did not come here of my own accord,” she reminded him becoming very pale. “If I have played the spy ’tis no more than thy daughter did for many months in our house. I will gladly relieve thee of my presence at any time that thee will let me go.”

“You shall not go—now or at any time,” he stormed, his voice shaking in its fury. “Moreover I shall put it out of your power to work any further harm here. Sir Henry Clinton leaves for the South in a few days. I shall go with him, and take you both with me.”

“Oh, father!” wailed Harriet. “Not me?”

“You too,” he answered. “You and this marplot of a girl, who hath spoiled a most feasible plan of ending the rebellion.” He glared at Peggy for a moment with a look that made her tremble and then stalked out of the room.

“Just see what you have done, Peggy Owen,” cried Harriet, her eyes ablaze with wrath. “Now we’ll have to go I know not how far away, to some old place where there is no fun. Just mind your own affairs after this, will you?”

“No,” replied Peggy stoutly, though her heart swelled at the thought of going upon a journey that would take her further away from home. Like most girls of the period she was hazy about the geography of the country, and the South seemed an indefinite somewhere a long way off. “No, Harriet, my affairs are those of the rebels, as thee calls them. If at any time I hear aught planned either against them or the general, and ’tis in my power to warn them, I tell thee frankly that I shall do so.”

“I shall go right to father with that,” cried Harriet, and in turn she flounced out of the room.

In spite of her brave words, however, Peggy’s tears fell like rain as she slipped down to the stable and flung her arms about Star’s neck.

“Oh, Star, Star!” she sobbed. “I’ll never see mother again, I fear me. Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?”

Sir Henry Clinton was to set sail for Savannah, Georgia, which had fallen into the hands of the British in December of the preceding year. The province, after being overrun by the army in an incursion of savage warfare, appeared to be restored to the crown, and now Charleston was to be taken and South Carolina restored to its allegiance by the same method. North Carolina and Virginia were to follow in turn, and the campaign in the South concluded by a triumphal march back through Delaware, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey, until Washington would be between the two British armies. Then, with an attack from New York simultaneous with one from the rear, the Continentals would be swept out of existence. This, in brief, was the British plan of campaign for the ensuing year, and the English commander-in-chief was setting forth for its accomplishment.

Colonel Owen’s determination to go with his chief seemed to grow firmer the more Harriet pleaded with him to stay, and the day after Christmas they set sail in the schooner “Falcon.” Reinforced by Admiral Arbuthnot with new supplies of men and stores from England the British were jubilantly sure of success, and set forth with their transports under convoy of five ships of the line.

“We shall have our horses with us, anyway,” declared Harriet, who brightened up wonderfully once they were under way, and addressing Peggy with the first gleam of good humor that she had shown since it had been decided that they should accompany her father. “I saw to it that they were sent aboard with the cavalry horses, on one of the transports. I dare say there will be a chance for rides. At any rate ’twill not be so cold as it hath been in New York.”

“I suppose not,” agreed Peggy sadly. She was calling all her resolution to aid her to bear this new trial.

The early part of the voyage was extremely fortunate. The sea was smooth, the sky clear, the air sharp but kindly. To Peggy’s surprise she was not at all sick, and her spirits rose in spite of her sorrow at her separation from her mother. With the closing in of the night of the fourth day out, however, they fell in with foul winds and heavy weather. The wind began to whirl, and the sea to lift itself and dash spray over the schooner until the decks were as glassy as a skating pond. The temperature fell rapidly. All day Sunday the ships went on under this sort of weather which was not at all unusual for the time of year, but the next day the weather began to quiet, and the waves sank gradually to a long swell through which the vessels went with ease.

The whole surface of the sea was like a great expanse of molten silver which shimmered and sparkled under the rays of the wintry sun. The prospect was now for a smooth voyage, and the sailormen scraped the ice from rail and deck, and the passengers who had been confined to the cabin now came on deck and raced about like children under the influence of the pure air. The sky was very clear above, but all around the horizon a low haze lay upon the water.

“Isn’t this glorious, Peggy?” cried Harriet dancing about the deck like a wind sprite. “After all, there is nothing like the sea.”

“’Tis wonderful,” answered Peggy with awe in her tone. The vast spread of the waters, the immensity of the sky, the intense silence through which the creaking of the boats as they swung at the davits, and the straining of the shrouds as the ship rolled sounded loud and clear, all appealed to her sense of the sublime.

“I hope ’twill be as fine as this all the way to Georgia,” said Harriet. “And that seems to be the prospect.”

The captain of the vessel, a bluff Englishman, was passing at the moment and caught the last remark. He paused beside the maidens.

“It won’t be fine long,” he declared gruffly. “With a ground swell and a sinking temperature always look for squalls. Look there at the north!” The haze on the horizon to the north was rather thicker than elsewhere, and a few thin streaky clouds straggled across the clear, cold heavens. It told nothing to the girls, but the skipper’s face grew grave, and he hurried forward to give some commands.

“Furl topsails!” he shouted to the mate, “and have the mainsails reefed down!”

“Ay, ay, sir,” came the response, and instantly the men began hauling at the halliards, or sprang to the yards above to tuck away the great sails making all snug for the coming storm.

Even Peggy, unused to the sea as she was, could see that a storm was about to burst upon them. The north was now one great rolling black cloud with an angry ragged fringe which bespoke the violence of the wind that drove it. The whole great mass was sweeping onward with majestic rapidity, darkening the ocean beneath it.

“Get below there,” shouted the captain as he suddenly caught sight of the two girls still standing on deck watching the approach of the storm with fascinated eyes. “Get below, I say! D’ye want to be blowed away? Here she comes!”

As he spoke the wind broke in all its fury. The schooner heeled over until her lee rail touched the water, and lay so for a moment in a smother of foam. Gradually she rose a little, staggered and trembled like a living thing, and then plunged away through the storm.

It was a wild and dreary night that followed. Shut in the dark of the cabin Peggy and Harriet clung to each other, or to lockers, to keep from being dashed across the floor of the tossing vessel. All night long there was no chance for sleep. Every moment it seemed as though the ship must go down at the next onslaught of the waves.

“I like not to be mewed up like this,” objected Harriet when there came a chance for speech. “I like the feel of the wind and the hail and the spray.”

“Is thee not afraid, Harriet?” questioned Peggy.

“I am, down here,” answered her cousin. “I can stand any danger best that I can face. But they will not let us up. We might be swept away even if we could stand. And listen to the shouts, Peggy. There must be something amiss.”

And so on all through the long night. The dawn broke at last and brought with it a slight abatement of the tempest, but with the lessening gale came a new form of assault. The air was colder. A heavy fog rolled up and through it came a blinding snow-storm, fairly choking the deck of the ship.

For three days the girls were confined to the cabin, with but biscuits to nibble on. The fourth the wind fell at last, leaving the vessel rudderless and dismasted, and heaving on vast billows.

“There is but one hope for us,” said Colonel Owen as he explained the damage to the girls, “and that is to be picked up by another vessel.”

“Is it so bad as that, father?” questioned his daughter.

“Yes,” he answered gloomily.

But over the inky shroud of the ocean white capped and furious there shone no sign of a sail. The snow had ceased falling, but it was bitterly cold. The fifth and sixth days they tossed helplessly, but on the seventh day Peggy turned to her cousin with a startled query.

“Harriet,” she cried, “does thee hear that throbbing sound? What is it?”

Harriet Owen paled as she listened. “That, Peggy,” she said after a moment, “is the noise of the pumps. The ship hath sprung a leak.”

At this moment Colonel Owen came from the deck. He was visibly pale, and much troubled in manner. “Wrap yourselves as warmly as possible,” he advised them. “’Tis but a question of time now ere we must take to the boats, and there is no telling to what ye may be subjected before reaching land, if in truth we ever tread foot on solid ground again. Hasten!”

His warning was well timed; for, as he ceased speaking, there came hoarse shouts from above, a rush of hurrying feet, and the chugging of the pumps stopped. He ran up the hatchway, and was back almost instantly. “The boats are being lowered,” he informed them. “Throw what you can about you and come. If we dally we may be left behind. Men become beasts in a time like this.”

The girls obeyed him with the utmost haste. They were both colorless, but composed. On deck a wild scene was being enacted. The ship no longer rose to the waves, and even to an inexperienced eye was settling. That it was time to lower the boats was plain to be seen. The captain was trying to preserve something like order among the crew, but the hour for discipline had gone by.

“Women first,” he was crying in trumpet tones. “Men, remember your wives and daughters. Would ye have them left as ye are leaving these?”

But over the side of the vessel the men scrambled with fierce cries and imprecations, paying no heed either to his commands or pleadings. They swarmed into the boats, fighting for places like wild animals. The frail barks went down to the water loaded until the gunwales were lapped by the smallest waves. The skipper turned to Colonel Owen.

“The dingey is left, sir,” he said. “If you will help me to defend it from the rest of these brutes, we may be able to get these girls into it.”

“I will do my utmost,” rejoined the colonel. “Harriet, do you and Peggy stand behind me. When the boat is lowered be ready to get into it as soon as the captain speaks.”

Colonel Owen faced the few remaining men with drawn pistols as the boat was let down. The first mate took his place, and stood ready to receive the maidens.

“Go, Harriet,” said her father. But to Peggy’s amazement her cousin turned to her, crying, “You first, Peggy! You first!”

“But,” cried Peggy her heart flooded with sudden warmth at this unlooked-for solicitude, “I cannot leave thee, Harriet. I——”

“Stop that nonsense!” exclaimed Colonel Owen gruffly. “We have no time for it. Get into the boat at once.”

Without further comment Peggy permitted herself to be handed down into the boat, and as she reached it in safety she looked expectantly up for Harriet to follow. At that moment came a hoarse cry from the skipper.

“Cast off, Mr. Davy! Cast off! You’ll be swamped.”

The mate pulled away just as half a dozen frantic seamen leaped from the deck toward the boat. The swirl of the waters caught it, turning it round and round by the force. With a great effort he succeeded in sending it out of the eddy just in time to avoid being drawn under by the drowning seamen. Again making a strenuous effort to get beyond their reach he sent the dingey scudding to westward, was caught by a current, and carried further away from the vessel.

“What is it?” asked Peggy as she caught a glimpse of his whitening face.

“God help them,” broke from him. “We are caught in the current and can’t get back to the ‘Falcon.’”

CHAPTER XXVII—A HAVEN AFTER THE STORM

The girl uttered a low cry, and sank back to her place in the sheets covering her face with her hands. Colonel Owen and Harriet had been unkind. They had been selfish almost to cruelty in their treatment of her, but in this hour of what she believed to be certain death to them she forgot everything but that they were kinspeople.

The sea was running very high. Now that they were so near its surface they felt its full power. It had appeared stupendous when they were on the deck of the schooner, but now the great billows hurled them up and down, and tossed and buffeted them as though the boat was a plaything. Vainly the mate tried to steady it with the oars.

A long time Peggy sat so absorbed in grief for her cousins that she was oblivious to the peril of the situation. At length, however, she looked up, and the dreadful isolation and danger of the position appalled her. Only that little boat between them and the great Atlantic.

“I am cold,” she exclaimed, when she could bear it no longer. “Sir,” to the mate, who was making tremendous effort with the oars, “is there naught that will keep me from freezing?”

“No,” answered he shortly, turning his set face toward her for a moment. Its tense lines relaxed at sight of the girlish figure. “Stay! I have it. Come, and row a while. You will be wetter than ever, but ’twill warm you a bit.”

Without a question Peggy gladly took the place by his side, and began to scull as vigorously as her numbed fingers would permit with the oar he gave her. She was not of much assistance, but the exercise served to warm her chilled frame, and to divert her attention from their peril.

In this manner the day went on, the wind died down, and the sea fell to a low, glassy, foam-flecked roll, while overhead brooded the inky sky, and round them was the leaden mist of the enveloping fog. Suddenly the mate stopped rowing, and raised his head as though listening.

“It’s land,” he shouted. “Land, to the westward!” He listened again intently, and added solemnly: “And it’s breakers too, God help us!”

Peggy listened breathlessly. The air was full of sound, a low, deep roar, like the roll of a thousand wheels, the tramp of endless armies, or—what it was—the thunder of a mighty surge upon a pebbly ridge. Louder and nearer grew the sound. The mate’s face whitened, and Peggy sat erect, full of terror at the unknown danger that confronted them.

“I must pull,” he cried, sweeping her back to her place in the sheets. “I must pull,” he cried again as the fog lifted and the dim outline of a shore line became visible. “It’s a race with death, little girl, but we may be the victors.”

With mighty strokes he sent the dingey ahead into the boiling surf. A great wave caught the little shallop upon its broad bosom and flung it upon the reef which lay concealed in the foam. There was a horrible rending crash as the stout keel snapped asunder, while a second wave swept over it, sweeping out the struggling occupants, and bearing them onward.

Peggy knew naught of swimming, and so made no attempt to strike out. She felt the water surging into her ears like a torrent of ice. She felt that she was sinking down, down as if a great weight held her remorselessly. This was death, she thought, and as the pain in her lungs increased, visions passed swiftly through her brain. Where was the mate, she wondered. A race with death, he had said. And death was the victor after all. Her mother’s face flashed before her. She was dying and she would never know. And Sally! And Betty! And Robert! What times they had had! Would they grieve, when they knew? But they would never know.

There was no hope. She must be resigned, came the thought, and so she ceased to struggle just as a huge roller came surging over the outlying reef. It caught her and bore her onward on its crest. Peggy closed her eyes.

“The pore child! She’s coming to at last,” sounded a kindly voice, and Peggy opened her eyes and gazed into the anxious orbs of an elderly woman who was bending over her. “There now, you pore dear! Don’t stir. Just drink this, and go to sleep.”

A cup of something hot was held to her lips. She drank it obediently and sank back too utterly exhausted to even wonder where she was. She was in a warm, dry bed. There was a caress in the touch of the hands that ministered to her which penetrated through the stupor which was stealing over her, and with a sigh of content, she turned over and slept.

The recollections of the next few days were always thereafter dim to her mind. She knew that an elderly woman, somewhat rough-looking, was in the room frequently, but to speak or to move her limbs was quite impossible. But on the fourth day she was better. The fifth she could speak, move, rise in bed and turn, and when the woman brought some gruel in the middle of the day Peggy ate it with a relish. She felt strong and revived, and a desire for action stirred her. She wished to rise, and sat up suddenly.

“I believe if thee will help me I will get up,” she said.

“Sakes alive, child! air you able?” cried the woman in alarm.

“Yes,” said Peggy stoutly. “And I have troubled thee greatly, I fear.”

“Why, you little storm-tossed bird,” exclaimed the woman, “don’t you go for to call it trouble. Me and Henry just feel as though you was sent to us. Well, if you will get up, here are your clothes.” She brought Peggy her own things, clean and dry, and proceeded to help her dress. “There, you do look better now you are dressed. Let me help you to the kitchen.”

She put her arm about the maiden, and drew her gently across the room to the one beyond which was kitchen and living-room as well. It was a large room with a sanded floor clean scoured, a high backed settle, a deal table, a dresser with pewter plates ranged in rows, reflecting the redness and radiance of a glowing fire in a huge fireplace. The woman bustled about hospitably.

“You must have something to eat,” she declared. “You’ve had naught but gruel for so long that you must be hungry.”

“I am,” replied Peggy, watching her in a maze of content. Presently she sat up as a thought came to her. “Friend,” she cried, “how came I here?”

“Why, Henry brought you,” responded the woman. “It was after the big storm. We ain’t seen such a storm in years. Henry’s my husband. He’s a fisherman, as mayhap you’ve surmised. That is, he fishes for food, but I reckon you might call him a wrecker too,” she added with a smile. “Well, as I was saying, he was down on the beach when you was washed up by the waves. He thought you was dead at first, but when you got up, and tried to walk he just ran over to you as you fell and brought you right up to the house. Land! but we thought you was never coming to! But you did, and now you’ll be all right in a day or two.”

“How good thee has been,” said Peggy gratefully. “Why, thou and thy husband have saved my life. I was so cold in the water and I—I was drowning. Then that terrible wave threw me——” She paused shuddering at the remembrance.

“Dear heart, don’t think about it,” exclaimed the good dame hastening to her. “Here, child, eat this piece of chicken. It will hearten you up more than anything. After a bit mayhap you can tell me about yourself. But not a word until every bite of chicken is gone.”

Peggy smiled at the good woman’s insistence, but did not refuse the chicken. Her appetite was awakened and keen, and she ate the piece with such a relish that her hostess was well pleased. “There now! you look better already,” she declared. “Henry will be glad to see it. He takes a heap of interest in the folks he saves. I reckon he’s saved more lives than any man on the coast of North Carolina.”

“Is this North Carolina?” asked Peggy.

“Yes; and this is Fisherman’s Inlet, near the Cape Fear River. What ship did you say you was on?”

“’Twas the schooner ‘Falcon,’ from New York,” Peggy told her. “It was one of the vessels with Sir Henry Clinton, who set forth to attack Charleston.”

The woman’s face darkened ominously. “And you air a Tory, of course, being as you air a Quaker and with a British ship?” she said questioningly.

“I? Oh, no, no!” cried Peggy quickly. “Why, my father is David Owen of the Pennsylvania Light Horse. He is with the Continental army. I am a patriot, but I was captured and taken to New York City, where I have been since the last day of February of last year. It’s nearly a year,” she ended, her lips quivering.

“You don’t say!” ejaculated the woman. “Then you must be a prisoner of war?”

“I know not that I would be truly a prisoner of war,” answered Peggy, “for ’twas my father’s cousin who captured me. I will tell thee all about it.”

“You pore child,” exclaimed the woman, who ceased her work as Peggy unfolded her story, and listened with wide-eyed attention. “What a lot you’ve been through! I’m glad that you’re not one of them English.”

“And is thee a Whig?” asked Peggy.

“As I said, we air fisher folks, and don’t mingle in politics. We don’t wish harm to nobody, English or any other. Why, even though we air wreckers we always pray for the poor sailors in a storm, but we pray too that if there air any wrecks they will be washed up on Fisherman’s Inlet.”

A ripple of laughter rose to Peggy’s lips, but she checked it instantly. “How can I laugh,” she reproached herself, “when ’tis but a few days since I was on the ship? And the others have all perished, I doubt not.”

“Don’t think about it,” advised the dame. “Laugh if you can. A light heart is the only way to bear trouble. ’Tis a just punishment that they should be drowned.”

“But if Harriet had not made me go first I would not have been here,” said Peggy her voice growing tender at the mention of her cousin. All the old love and admiration for Harriet had returned with that act.

“I wonder,” she added presently, “if ’twould be possible for me to get to Philadelphia from here?”

“Philadelphia! I am afraid not, child. You don’t know the way, and I doubt if ’twould be safe to try it. Get strong first, and mayhap something will turn up that will help you to get there.”

“Yes,” said Peggy. “I must get strong first.”

CHAPTER XXVIII—A TASTE OF PARTISAN WARFARE

“Yes,” responded his wife. “And what do you think, Henry? She was on one of the ships that started from New York with Sir Henry Clinton for Georgia. They intend making another attempt to take Charleston.”

The fisherman’s brow contracted in a frown. “So they air a-going to bring the war down here?” he remarked thoughtfully. “That’s bad news. Was there many ships?”

“Five of the line, and I don’t know how many transports with men, ordnance and horses,” answered Peggy.

“Mayhap they’re all foundered by that storm,” exclaimed the dame. “’Twould be a mercy if they was.”

“Mandy,” spoke her husband, in a warning tone.

“She’s a Whig, Henry Egan, and her father’s in the Continental army,” explained the good woman. “And what’s more, she’s a prisoner of war, too. Jest you tell him about it.”

And Peggy told again all her little story. When she spoke of the time spent in the camp of the main army, the fisherman became intensely interested.

“And so you know General Washington?” he remarked smiling. “How does he look? We all air mighty proud of him down here. You see he comes from this part of the country. Jest over here in Virginny. A next door neighbor, you might call him.”

And Peggy told all she could about General Washington, about such of his generals as she had met, the movements of the army, and everything connected with her stay in New York. Nor was this the last telling.

North Carolina, while intensely patriotic as a whole and responding liberally to the country’s demand for troops and supplies, had heretofore had but one slight incursion from the British. For this reason they were eager to hear from one who had been in the midst of the main armies, and who seemed to come as a direct messenger from that far-off Congress whose efforts to sustain a central government were becoming so woefully weak.

So Peggy found herself the centre of a little circle, composed of true and tried Whigs whose leaning toward the cause had more than once brought them into conflict with neighboring Tories.

The cottage was situated on a small inlet of the ocean a few miles east of the Cape Fear River. A little distance from the main shore a low yellow ridge of sand hills stretched like a serpent, extending nearly the full length of the state on the ocean side, and making the coast the dread of mariners. These reefs were called “the banks.” The cottage was an unpretentious structure, consisting of but three rooms: the living-room or kitchen, a little chamber for Peggy, and a larger one occupied by the fisherman and his wife. But the fisherman had grown rich from wreckage. He had a number of beef cattle, and herded “banker ponies” by the hundred.

Peggy grew fond of him and of the wife, and assisted in all the duties of the simple household. And so the time went by, and then there came to them rumors of the British fleet which had at last landed its forces for the besieging of Charleston.

Anxiously the result was awaited. North Carolina rushed men to the city to help in its defense, for if that fell it was but a question of time until their own state would suffer invasion. At last, Henry Egan betook himself to Wilmington, thirty miles distant, for news. On his return his brow was overcast with melancholy.

“Charleston is taken,” he announced in gloomy tones. “The whole of General Lincoln’s army air prisoners. The British air overrunning all South Carolina, plundering and burning the house of every Whig, and trying to force every man in the state to join their army. The Tories in both states air rising, and I tell you, wife, it won’t be long until our time comes.”

“I am afraid so,” answered Mistress Egan, turning pale. “Oh, Henry, I wish we was up to mother’s at Charlotte. We would be safe up there.”

“I don’t know, Mandy. It seems as though there was no place safe from the British. It might be best to go up there, but I’d never reach there with the ponies. The people air a-hoping that Congress will send us some help from the main army. The state hasn’t anything now but milish. ’Tis said in Wilmington that Sir Henry returns soon to New York, leaving Lord Cornwallis to complete the subjugation of the South. He publicly boasts that North Carolina will receive him with open arms.”

“Belike the Tories will,” remarked the good dame sarcastically. “I reckon he’ll find a few that won’t be so overjoyed. Mayhap too they’ll give him a welcome of powder and ball.”

But the reports that came to them from time to time of the atrocities committed by the British in the sister state were far from reassuring. Events followed each other in rapid succession. Georgetown, Charleston, Beaufort and Savannah were the British posts on the sea; while Augusta, Ninety-six, and Camden were those of the interior. From these points parties went forth, gathering about them profligate ruffians, and roamed the state indulging in rapine, and ready to put patriots to death as outlaws. The Tories in both the Carolinas rose with their masters, and followed their lead in plundering and arson.

“I do wish, Henry,” said his wife, “that you would sell off all the beef cattle and marsh ponies that you have. We’ll be getting a visit along with the rest of the folks. I reckon, if you don’t.”

“Everything is all right,” cried Henry who had just returned from Wilmington. “Tidings jest come that Congress has sent General Gates to take command of the Southern army, and they say he’s advancing as fast as he can.”

“Well, it wouldn’t do no hurt to get rid of the critters anyway,” persisted his wife. “A lot of harm can be done before Gates gets here.”

“I tell you everything is all right now,” said Henry exultingly. “Just let Horatio Gates get a whack at Cornwallis, and he’ll Burgoyne him jest as he did the army at Saratoga.”

“I wish it was General Arnold who was coming,” said Peggy. She had never felt confidence in General Gates since John Drayton had related his version of that battle. The exposure of the “Conway Cabal” had lessened her faith in him also, as it had that of many people. “General Arnold was the real hero of Saratoga. He and Daniel Morgan; so I’ve heard.”

“Well, I ain’t saying nothing against Arnold,” was the fisherman’s answer. “He’s a brave man, dashing and brilliant; but if Congress hadn’t thought that Gates was the man for us they wouldn’t have sent him down.”

Peggy said no more. The climax came in August when, utterly routed at Camden, Gates fled alone from his army into Charlotte. A few days later, Sumter, who now commanded the largest force that remained in the Carolinas, was surprised by Colonel Tarleton as he bivouacked on the Wateree, and put to rout by that officer. Elated by his success Cornwallis prepared for his northward march, and in furtherance of his plans inaugurated a reign of terror.

One night in the latter part of August Peggy could not sleep. It was very warm, and she rose and went out on the little porch where she stood trying to get a breath of air. The sea moved with a low murmur, the surf being very light.

“How warm it is,” she mused. “Even the sea is quiet to-night. How different it is down here from my own Philadelphia. Is mother there now, I wonder? Or would she be at Strawberry Hill? I wish——”

She bent her head abruptly in a listening attitude. The tramp of a horse approaching in a gallop was plainly heard. But a few moments elapsed before a man, who in the starlight she could see was armed, dashed up and drew rein before the cottage calling loudly:

“Awake! Awake, Henry Egan! The British and Tories are coming. Awake, man, awake!”

“Friend,” called the girl excitedly, “who is thee?”

“A friend. Jack Simpson,” he answered. “Is Egan dead, that he does not answer? He must awake.”

Peggy ran to the door of the bedchamber, calling wildly:

“Friend Henry, Friend Mandy, awake, awake!”

“Who calls?” cried Egan, sitting up suddenly.

“’Tis Peggy,” answered she quickly. “A friend is here who says the Tories are coming.”

“The Lord have mercy on us,” ejaculated Mistress Egan springing out of bed. “Henry, Henry, get up! The British and Tories are upon us.”

At last awake, the fisherman sprang from his bed, and rushed to the door.

“Get your wife and whatever you want to save,” shouted the man outside. “The British are out with Fanning’s Tories burning every suspected house in the district. No time to lose, Henry. They’re coming now.”

Egan hurried back into the house, and caught up a portmanteau which he kept lying by his bed at night. Mistress Egan and Peggy were dressed by this time, and the three hurried into the swamp which lay to the north of the cottage. The man who had given the warning passed on to perform the same office for other menaced families.

Unused to swamps, the British seldom followed the inhabitants into their recesses, and this proved the safety of many a family in the Carolinas. They were scarcely within the confines of the marsh when they heard the tramp of many hoofs, the neighing of horses, and the enemy was at the cottage.

“By my hilt, the birds have flown,” shouted an English voice, and the words were distinctly heard through the stillness of the night. “Search the house, boys. Egan must have some rich pickings. Bring out whatever there is of value, and then burn the hut. The horses and cattle must be hereabouts somewhere.”

There followed hoarse cries and a rush for the building. It seemed to Peggy that a moment had hardly passed before a red glare lit up the spot where the cottage stood.

“Back into the swamp,” whispered Egan in a whisper. “They may see us here.”

Back into thicknesses of morass such as Peggy had never seen before they went, speaking only when necessary and then in the lowest of tones. And thus the rest of the night was spent, while the fiends ravaged the herding pens, and beat up the bushes for the ponies. The fugitives remained in hiding until morning dawned. Then they made their way back to the blackened ruins of the cottage. Tears coursed down Peggy’s cheeks at the sight.

“What shall thee do?” she cried putting her arms about Mistress Egan. “Oh, what shall thee do?”

For a moment the fisherman’s wife could not speak. She shed no tears, but her face was worn, and drawn, and haggard. She had aged in the night.

“Henry,” she cried, “there is but one thing for us to do, and that is to get to mother’s.”

“And how shall we do that, Mandy? We have neither horse nor wagon left us.”

“Henry Egan, I’m ashamed of you! Ain’t we in North Carolina? When did her people ever refuse to aid each other?”

“You’re right,” he acknowledged humbly. “North Carolina is all right—but the Tories. I don’t take no stock in that part of her population.”

“And neither do I,” she rejoined grimly. “From this time on I am a Whig out and aboveboard. They have done us all the harm they can, I reckon. What you got in that bag, Henry?”

Egan smiled.

“It’s gold, Mandy. I reckon they didn’t find all the pickings.”

“For mercy sake, Henry Egan, we can’t get through the country with that,” exclaimed the good woman. “Bury it, or do something with it.”

“Yes,” he said. “That will be the safest. Wait for me while I do it.” He was with them again in a short time. “We will go to Hampton’s and get something to eat,” he said. “I kept a little money, and maybe Mis’ Hampton will let us have some horses.” He turned as he spoke and his wife started after him, but Peggy lingered.

“Come, child,” said Mistress Egan. “It’s a right smart way over to Hampton’s. We must get along.”

“But,” hesitated Peggy, “won’t I be a burden now? I ought not to add to thy trouble.”

“Why, honey, you have nowhere to go. What would you do? Now don’t worry about trouble, but just come right along. We will all keep together. What’s ourn is yours too.” And gratefully Peggy went with them. It was indeed a “right smart way” to Hampton’s, which proved to be a large plantation lying some ten miles from the cottage. It was a cloudless day in August, and excessively warm. When they at length reached the place they were footsore and weary.

“Why, Mandy Egan,” exclaimed a motherly looking woman, coming to the door of the dwelling as she caught sight of them. “Whatever has happened? Come right in. You all look ready to drop.”

Mistress Egan, who had borne up wonderfully all through the long night and the wearing walk, now broke down at this kindly greeting.

“The Tories, under some British, burnt us out last night,” explained her husband. “They sacked the house first, of course, and ran off all the ponies and cattle. We have come to you for help, Martha. Will you let us have the horses to get up to Charlotte to her mother’s?”

“Of course I will, Henry. All sorts of reports are flying about. Will says that down at Wilmington ’tis thought that nothing can save the old north state. Cornwallis hath already begun his march toward us.”

“Heaven save us if ’tis true,” ejaculated the fisherman, sinking into a chair. “First Lincoln and his whole army at Charleston; then Gates and his forces at Camden! Two armies in three months swept out of existence. The cause is doomed.”

“Oh, if they had only sent General Arnold,” cried Peggy. “He is so brave, so daring, I just know he could have saved us.”

Gravely, oppressed by vague fears for the future, they gathered about the table. American freedom trembled in the balance. Disaster had followed fast upon disaster. Georgia, South Carolina restored to the British—North Carolina’s turn to be subjugated was at hand.

It was with sad forebodings that the three began their journey toward the north early the next morning.

CHAPTER XXIX—PEGGY FINDS AN OLD FRIEND

The travel northward was by slow stages, on account of the intense heat of the lowlands. The settlements along the Cape Fear River were composed principally of Scotch Highlanders, who were favorable to the side of the king, and these the fisherman’s little party avoided by leaving the road and making a wide détour through the woods. But often in the gloaming of the summer evenings the weird notes of the bagpipes sounding old Highland tunes would mingle with the mournful calls of the whip-poor-wills, producing such an effect of sadness that Peggy was oft-times moved to tears.

Still, these regions were not deserted. They sometimes came across numerous groups of women and children—desolated families, victims of Tory ravages, who were fleeing like hunted game through the woods to the more friendly provinces northward. It was a great relief when they finally reached the undulating country of the uplands, and, after a week of hard riding, the town of Charlotte, to the left of which, on the road leading to Beattie’s Ford on the Catawba River, lay the plantation and mill of William and Sarah Sevier, parents of Mistress Egan.

They were unpolished people in many ways, but so kindly and hospitable that Peggy felt at home at once. The community was famed for its love of liberty, and was later denounced by Cornwallis as “a hornet’s nest.” It was here, five years previous to this time, that the spirit of resistance to tyranny found expression in the famous “Mecklenburg resolutions.” In this congenial environment Peggy was as near to happiness as it was possible for her to be so far from her kindred. One thing that added to her felicity was the fact that Charlotte was directly on the route running through Virginia and thence north to Philadelphia, which before the Revolution had been used as a stage line.

“If only I had Star,” she would cry wistfully, “I would try to get home. If only I had Star!”

One morning in the early autumn Mistress Egan called Peggy, and said to her, in much the same manner that her mother would have used:

“I want you to put on your prettiest frock, Peggy. Ma’s going to have a company here for the day. The men are to help pa gather the corn while the women take off a quilt. The young folks will come to-night for the corn-husking, but I reckon there won’t be a girl that can hold a candle to my little Quakeress. The boys will all want you to find the red ear.”

Peggy laughed.

“Is that the reason there hath been so much cooking going on, Friend Mandy? Methought there was a deal of preparation just for the family.”

“There’s a powerful sight to be done yet,” observed Mistress Egan.

“Then do let me help,” pleaded Peggy. “Thee spoils me. Truly thee does. Why, at home I helped mother in everything.”

The guests came early, as was the custom when there was work to be done. The men rode horseback with their wives behind them on pillions, and with rifles held in the hollow of their left arms; for it was the practice in those trying times to bear arms even upon visits of business or friendship. Soon a company of two score or more had gathered at the farmhouse. Greetings exchanged, the men hastened to the cornfields to gather the new corn, while the women clustered about the quilting frames, and fingers plied the needles busily, while tongues clacked a merry accompaniment.

The morning passed quickly, and at noon the gay party had just seated themselves around the table where a bountiful dinner steamed, when they were startled by a shout from the yard.

“Fly for your lives, men! The British are coming to forage.”

Instantly the men sprang for their rifles and accoutrements. Inured to danger and alarms, the women were as quick to act as their husbands. Some of them ran to the stables and led forth the horses, which they saddled hastily, ready for service; while others gathered up whatever objects of value they could carry. With marvelous celerity the men placed the women and servants on the horses by twos and threes, bidding them to betake themselves to neighbors who were more remote from the main road. They themselves had scarcely time for concealment in a deep thicket and swamp which bordered one extremity of the farm before the British videttes were in sight. These halted upon the brow of a hill for the approach of the main body, and then in complete order advanced to the plantation.

After reconnoitering the premises, and finding no one present, but all appearances of the hasty flight of the occupants, the dragoons dismounted, tethered their horses and detailed a guard. Some sumpter-horses were harnessed to farm wagons, and some of the troopers began to load them with various products of the fields; while military baggage wagons under charge of a rear guard gradually arrived, and were employed in the gathering of the new corn, carrying off stacks of oats and the freshly pulled corn fodder.

Enjoying the prospect of free living the soldiers shouted joyously among their plunder. Separate parties, regularly detailed, shot down and butchered the hogs and calves, while others hunted and caught the poultry of different descriptions. In full view of this scene stood the commander of the British forces, a portly, florid Englishman, one hand on each side the doorway of the farmhouse, where the officers were partaking of the abundant provisions provided for the guests of Mistress Sevier.

Meanwhile Peggy, who had been mounted behind Grandma Sevier, for so she had learned to call Mistress Egan’s mother, discovered that lady in tears.

“Grandma,” she cried with concern, “what is it? Is thee frightened?”

“It’s my Bible,” wailed the old lady. “The Scottish translation of the Psalms is bound in with it, and they say the British burn every Bible they find like that. Oh, I’ll never have another! My mother gave it to me when William and me was married. The births and deaths of my children are in it—oh, I’d rather everything on the place was took than that.”

“Stop just a minute, please,” spoke Peggy. Then, as the surprised woman brought the horse to a standstill, the maiden slipped to the ground. “I’m going back for the Bible,” she cried, and darted away before any of them guessed her intention.

“Peggy, Peggy,” called several voices after her, but the girl laughed at them and disappeared among the bushes.

“The British won’t hurt me,” she reassured herself as she came in sight of the dwelling. “I am just a girl, and can do them no harm. I’m just going to have that Bible for grandma. ’Tis a small thing to do for her when she hath been so good to me.”

And so saying, she stepped out from the bushes where she had paused for a moment, and marched boldly up to the commander in the doorway.

“Sir,” she said, sweeping him a fine curtsey, “I wish thee good-day.”

“Well, upon my life, what have we here?” exclaimed he, astounded at this sudden apparition.

“If thee pleases, good sir, I live here,” returned Peggy.

“And I do please,” he cried. “Come in, mistress. Your pardon, but we have made somewhat free with the premises, but if it so be that you are a loyal subject of King George, you shall have ample recompense for whatever we take.”

“I thank thee,” she said, ignoring the question of loyalty. “I will enter, if I may. Grandma wishes her Bible, and that, sir, can surely be given her?”

“Of a truth,” he cried, stepping aside for her to pass. “’Tis a small request to refuse such beauty. Take the Bible and welcome, my fair Quakeress.”

“I thank thee,” spoke the girl, with quaint dignity. Sedately she passed into the dwelling and went directly to Mistress Sevier’s chamber, where the Bible lay on a small table. Clasping it close, Peggy again went through the living-room, where the astonished officers awaited her coming curiously.

“You are not going to be so unmannerly as to leave us, are you?” asked the captain.

“Sir,” spoke the girl, facing him bravely, “I pray thee, permit me to pass unmolested. We have left thee and thy soldiers at liberty to possess yourselves of our belongings. Show at least this courtesy.”

“Methinks,” he began, tugging at his moustache thoughtfully, “that such leniency deserves something at your hands. I doubt not ’tis a Presbyterian Bible, and we have orders to destroy all such. Methinks——”

But Peggy was out and past him before he had finished speaking. There was a shorter way into the swamp if she would go through the orchard where the horses were tethered, and she sped across the lawn in that direction. As she darted among the animals the book slipped from her clasp and she stooped to recover it. As she rose from her stooping position she felt the soft nose of a horse touch her cheek gently, and a low whinny broke upon her ear. The girl gave one upward glance, and then sprang forward, screaming:

“Star!” In an ecstasy of joy she threw her arms about the little mare’s neck, for it was in reality her own pony. “Oh, Star! Star! have I found thee again?”

Caress after caress she lavished on the pony, which whinnied its delight and seemed as glad of the meeting as the girl herself. A number of soldiers, drawn by curiosity, meanwhile gathered about the maiden and the horse, and among them was the commanding officer. Peggy had forgotten everything but the fact that she had found Star again, and paid no heed to their presence.

“It seems to be a reunion,” remarked the officer at length dryly. “May I ask, my little Quakeress, what claim you have on that animal?”

Peggy lifted her tear-stained face.

“Why, it’s my pony that my dear father gave me,” she answered. “It’s Star!”

“That cannot be,” he told her. “I happen to know that this especial horse came down from New York City on one of the transports with Sir Henry Clinton. So you see that it cannot be yours.”

“But it is, sir,” cried she. “I came down at the same time with my cousin Colonel Owen and his daughter Harriet on the ‘Falcon.’ Our horses, Harriet’s and mine, were put on one of the transports.”

“Then why are you not in Charleston with the others?” he demanded.

“Why, they were lost at sea,” she replied, turning upon him a startled look. “We took to the boats, but ours was caught by the current and swept away from the schooner. It must have gone down afterward.”

“I see,” he said. “Then if all this is true, and you came down with Sir Henry and his company, you must be a loyalist? In that case, of course, you may have the horse.”

“It is indeed truth that I came here in that manner,” reiterated Peggy. “And the horse is truly mine.”

“But are you loyal?” he persisted. “If you will say so you may take the beast, and aught else you wish on the premises.”

Peggy leaned her head against Star’s silky mane and was silent. It would be so easy to say. She could not part with Star now that she had found her. Would it be so very wrong? Just a tiny fib! The girl gave a little sob as the temptation assailed her and tightened her clasp of the pony convulsively. It was but a moment and then, stricken with horror at the thought which had come to her, Peggy raised her head.

“Sir,” she said, “I am not loyal to the king. I am a strong patriot. In sooth,” speaking more warmly than she would have done had it not been for that same temptation, “in sooth, I don’t believe there is a worse rebel to His Majesty anywhere in these parts; but for all that thee shan’t have Star. Thee shall kill me first.”

And so saying she picked up the Bible from the ground where it had fallen, and sprang lightly into the saddle.

The captain had smiled in spite of himself as she flung him her defiance. Peggy aroused was Peggy adorable. With eyes flashing, color mantling cheek and brow, the crushed creamy blossom nestling caressingly in her dark hair, the maiden made a picture that would bring a smile from either friend or foe. But as she sprang to the saddle the officer seized the rein which she had unknotted from the tree, exclaiming:

“You have spirit, it seems, despite your Quaker speech. The horse is yours for one——”

At this instant there came a shout from the soldiers who had resumed the chase of the poultry during the colloquy between their officer and the maiden. Some of their number had struck down some beehives formed of hollow gum logs ranged near the garden fence. The irritated insects dashed after the men, and at once the scene became one of uproar, confusion and lively excitement.

The officer loosed his clasp on the bridle, and turned to see the cause of the clamor. The attention of the guard was relaxed for the moment, and taking advantage of the diversion Peggy struck her pony quickly. The mare bounded forward; the captain uttered an exclamation and sprang after her just as the sharp crack of a dozen rifles sounded.

When the smoke lifted the captain and nine men lay stretched upon the ground, and Peggy was flying toward cover as fast as Star could carry her. Immediately the trumpets sounded a recall, but by the time the scattered dragoons had collected, mounted and formed, a straggling fire from a different direction into which the concealed farmers had extended showed the unerring aim of each American marksman, and increased the confusion of the surprise.

Perfectly acquainted with every foot of the ground, the farmer and his friends constantly changed their position, giving in their fire as they loaded so that it appeared to the British that they were surrounded by a large force. The alternate hilly and swampy grounds and thickets, with woods on both sides the road, did not allow efficient action to the horses of the dragoons, and after a number of the troopers had been shot down they turned and fled. The leading horses in the wagons were killed before they could ascend the hill and the road became blocked up. The soldiers in charge, frantic at the idea of being left behind, cut loose some of the surviving animals, and galloped after their retreating comrades.

“They didn’t find it so easy to get pickings up here as they did down at my house,” chuckled Henry Egan as the hidden farmers came forth after the skirmish, without the loss of a man. “I reckon, pa, you’d better get the women back here. Some of these men need attention. I wonder where Peggy went? The daring little witch! I was scared clean out of my senses when she sassed that captain. Find where she is, pa.”

It was not long before the women were back, and with them came Peggy, tearful but joyous, leading Star by the bridle.