Peggy Owen Patriot Part 42

-Faire Quarrell.

For a time no sound was heard in the room but the sobs of the maiden and the broken utterances of the men. The tears of the latter were no shame to their manhood, for they were wrung from their hearts by the defection of a great soldier.

The friend of Was.h.i.+ngton and of Schuyler! The brilliant, das.h.i.+ng soldier with whose exploits the country had rung but a short time since; if this man was traitor whom could they trust?

Presently Peggy felt a light touch on her head, and looked up to find General Gates regarding her with solicitude.

"My child," he said, "I am about to ride into Hillsboro' to confer with Governor Nash. Will you permit me to be your escort? We must find a resting place for you. You must be weary after this trying day."

"I am," she replied sadly. "Wearied and heart-sick. Thee is very kind, and I thank thee." She rose instantly, and followed him to the door where the orderly had her horse in charge.

What a change had come over the encampment. From lip to lip the tidings had flown, and white-faced men huddled about the camp-fires talking in whispers. No longer song, or story, or merry jest enlivened the evening rest time, but a hush was over the encampment such as follows a great battle when many have fallen.

Seeing that she was so depressed General Gates exerted himself to cheer her despondency, leaving her when Hillsborough was reached in the care of a motherly woman.

"I shall send Lieutenant Drayton to you in the morning," he said as he was taking his departure. "He will need comfort, child; as we all do, but the boy was wrapped up in Arnold."

It was noon the next day before Drayton appeared, and Peggy was shocked at the change in him. There was no longer a trace of jauntiness in his manner. There were deep circles under his eyes, and he was pale and haggard as though he had not slept.

"John," she cried, her heart going out to him for his sorrow, "thee must not take this matter so. General Was.h.i.+ngton is left us."

"Yes," he replied, "but I loved him so. Oh, Peggy! Peggy! why did he do it?"

"I know not," she answered soberly. "After thee left Philadelphia there were rumors concerning General Arnold's extravagance. Mother was much exercised anent the matter. But as to whether that had anything to do with this, I know not."

"How shall I bear it?" he cried suddenly. "Who shall take his place? Had he been with us there would have been another tale to tell of Camden."

"That may be, John." And then, seeking to beguile his thoughts from the matter, she added with sweet craftiness: "Thee has not told me how thee came to be down here? Nor yet if thee ever returned to New York City after that trip with the wood? Thee should have seen Cousin William after the failure of the alert. That was why he brought me down here."

"Tell me about it, Peggy," he replied with kindling interest. And the girl, pleased with her artifice, related all that had befallen her.

"And now?" he questioned. "What are you going to do now?"

"There is but one thing to do, John," she answered, surprised by the query. "That is, to get home as quickly as possible."

"I like not for you to undertake such a journey, Peggy. There are more loyalists in the South than elsewhere, which was the reason the war was transferred to these states. 'Tis a dangerous journey even for a man.

'Tis hard to get despatches to and from Congress, as you know by the death of that poor fellow whose letters you carried. I don't believe that your mother would like for you to undertake it."

"But there is danger in staying, John. No part of the Carolinas is safe from an incursion of the enemy. 'Tis as far back to the plantation at Charlotte as 'twould be to go on to Virginia, and I want my mother.

Friend Hart said that he and his wife would travel slowly so that I could o'ertake them."

"Yes; you ought to be out of this," agreed Drayton. "Every part of this country down here is being ravaged by Tories, who seem determined to destroy whatever the British leave. Would that I could take you to your mother, Peggy, but I cannot leave without deserting, and that I--"

"Thee must not think of it," she interrupted, looking at him fearfully.

"And that," he went on steadily without noticing the interruption, "I would not do, even for you."

"That forever settles my last doubt of thee," declared Peggy with an attempt at sprightliness. "I know that thee is willing to do almost anything for me."

"Yes," he replied. "And now I must go."

"Shall I see thee again before I leave, John?"

"When do you start?"

"In the morning. I waited to-day to see thee."

"Then it must be good-bye now," he said. "I am to carry some despatches to General Marion on the morrow, and that will take us far apart, Peggy.

I asked for the mission; for I must have action at the present time. I like not to think."

"Don't be too venturesome," pleaded the girl. "We who know thee have no need of valiant deeds to prove thy merit."

"I want a chance to distinguish myself," declared the lad. "That, and to prove my loyalty too. All of General Arnold's old men will be regarded with suspicion until they show that they are true. And now good-bye, Peggy."

"Good-bye, John," spoke the maiden sorrowfully. "Thee carries my sympathy and prayers with thee."

He bade her good-bye again, and left. Early next morning Peggy set forth at speed hoping to overtake Mr. and Mistress Hart before the day's end.

Her thoughts were busied with Drayton and his grief, and she now acknowledged to herself the fear that had filled her lest he too should prove disloyal.

"But it hath not even occurred to him to be other than true," she told herself with rejoicing.

And so thinking she rode along briskly, and was not long in reaching the spot where they had been stopped by the dying vidette. She gazed at the place with melancholy, noting that the bushes were trampled as though a number of men had pa.s.sed over them. Doubting not but that this appearance had been caused by the soldiers who had been sent for the body, which was indeed the fact, the girl sped on rapidly, trying not to think of all that had occurred in the past few days.

Peggy had been sure of her bearings up to this time, for she had traversed the highway twice to this point, but from this on she was confronted by an unfamiliar road. So it happened that when directly she came to a place where the road diverged into two forks, she drew rein in bewilderment.

"Why," she exclaimed, "I don't know which one to take. What shall I do?

How shall I decide, Star?" appealing to the only living thing near.

Hearing her name the little mare neighed, tossed her head, and turned into the branch of the roadway running toward the South, just as though she had taken matters in hand for herself. Peggy laughed.

"So thee is going to decide for me, is thee?" she asked patting the pony's neck. "Well, we might as well go in this direction as the other.

I know not which is the right one. I hope that we will come to a house soon where I may ask."

But no dwelling of any kind came in sight. The afternoon wore away, and the girl became anxious. She did not wish to pa.s.s the night in the woods. The memory of that night so long ago when she and Harriet had ridden to Amboy was not so pleasant that she wished to repeat the experience. But Star sped ahead as though familiar with her surroundings. At nightfall there was still no sign of either Joe Hart and his wife, or sight of habitation.

"I fear me we have lost our way, Star," she mused aloud. "I wonder what we'd best do? Keep moving, methinks. 'Tis the only way to reach anywhere."

Peggy tried to smile at her little sally, but with poor success. The pony trotted ahead as if she at least was not bewildered, and presently, to the girl's amazement, of her own accord turned into a lane that would have escaped Peggy's notice. To her further astonishment at a short distance from the highway stood a woodman's hut, and the mare paused before the door.

"Why, thou dear creature!" cried Peggy in delight. "It seems just as though thee knew the way."

She dismounted, and with the bridle over her arm approached the cabin almost gaily, so greatly relieved was she at finding a shelter. A woman came to the door in answer to her knock, and opened it part way.

"What do you want?" she asked harshly.

"A lodging for the night, friend," answered the maiden, surprised by this reception, for the people were usually hospitable and friendly.

"How many air you?" was the next question.