"The rolling world is girdled with the sound,
Perpetually breathed from all who dwell
Upon its bosom, for no place is found
Where is not heard, 'Farewell.'"
--Celia Thaxter.
As the little caravan turned from Chestnut Street into Seventh so that
she could no longer see her home Peggy's lips quivered, and it was with
difficulty that she refrained from bursting into tears.
"Give not way to idle grief at our parting," her mother had admonished
her. "Thee will have need of all thy fortitude to attend thy cousin, and
'twere sinful to waste thy strength in weeping."
With this counsel in mind the girl struggled bravely against her
emotion, and presently, wiping her eyes, turned toward the nurse. For
youth is ever buoyant, and it is not natural for it to give way long to
sadness. They had passed the Bettering House by this time and were well
on their way toward the lower ferry.
"Thee will think me but a dull companion, I fear, friend nurse," she
said. "But I grieve to leave my mother even for so short a time. In
truth, I have but recently returned home after a long absence."
"Partings are always sad, my child, even when they are but for a few
days," replied Nurse Johnson sympathetically. "I felt just so when I
bade my sister farewell this morning. We had not seen each other for ten
years until I came for this visit, and 'tis like to be as long again
before we get another glimpse of each other if this fearful war
continues. In times such as these separation from loved ones is fraught
with more than the usual sorrow; for one never knows what will happen.
But you have borne up bravely, child. I feared a scene. Most girls would
have treated me to such. You have the making of a good nurse, Peggy,
with such control."
"'Tis another time that I merit not thy praise," explained the maiden.
"'Tis all due to mother. She cautioned me about giving way to my
feelings, thinking that I would need my strength for the journey."
"Your mother is right," said Nurse Johnson soberly. "The way is long and
we shall have much ado to beguile the tediousness of it. As a beginning,
can you tell me if those earthworks yonder are the remains of British
entrenchments?"
"Yes," answered the girl. "Traces of their lines are still discoverable
in many places about the city. If thee rode out the Bristol road at all
thee must have seen a large redoubt which commands the Delaware. Its
parapet is considered of great elegance, though there are those that
contend that the parapet was constructed with more regard to ornament
than for fortification. Just this side of the battery are the barracks
they built."
"And were you in the city when they held possession?"
"No. Mother and I were at Strawberry Hill, our farm on the Wissahickon.
Thee should have seen our city before the enemy held it, friend nurse.
There were great trees all along the banks of the Schuylkill here which
were called the Governor's Woods. The English cut them down for
fire-wood, and to help build their fortifications. And so many of our
beautiful country places were burned."
"'Tis so all over the land, my child," returned the nurse sadly. "War
leaves a train of wrecked and desolated homes wherever it is waged. We
of Virginia have been fortunate so far to escape a wholesale ravage of
the state. True, there have been some predatory incursions, but the
state as a whole has not been overrun by the enemy. If General Greene
can continue to hold Lord Cornwallis' attention in the Carolinas we may
not suffer as those states have."
Thus she spoke, for no one imagined at this time that Virginia would
soon become the center of activities. And so chatting they crossed the
river, and by noon were in Chester, where they baited their horses and
refreshed themselves for the afternoon journey.
It was spring. The smooth road wound beneath the budding foliage of the
forest. The air was fresh and balmy, and laden with the perfume of
flowers and leaves. The sky was blue, and Peggy followed with delight
the flight of a hawk across its azure. Robins flew about merrily, with
red breasts shaken by melodious chirpings, and brilliant plumage
burnished by the sunlight. The maiden began to feel a keen enjoyment of
the drive, and chatted and laughed with an abandon foreign to her usual
quiet demeanor.
They lay at Wilmington, Delaware, that night, and early the next morning
were up and away again. Mindful of her new diary Peggy recorded her
impressions of the country through which she passed for the benefit of
her friends of The Social Select Circle.
"The country is beautiful," she wrote enthusiastically on the fourth day
of her journey after passing from Wilmington through Newcastle, and Head
of the Elk, and crossing the Susquehanna River. "Though it seems to me
more sandy than Pennsylvania. I think this must arise from being so near
the coast. The Susquehanna is very broad at this crossing, but it cannot
compare with the Delaware for limpidness and whiteness. Nor are its
banks so agreeable in appearance. To-morrow we enter Baltimore, which I
long to see, for Nurse Johnson says 'tis a monstrously fine city.
"'And is thee going to tell us naught but about the country, Peggy?' I
hear thee complain, Betty Williams. Know then, thou foolish Betty, that
the 'Silent Knight,' as thee dubbed him, hath not yet broken that
silence. Each morning he bows very gravely and deeply. Oh, a most ornate
obeisance! Thee should see it. This I return in my best manner, and the
ceremony for the day is over. If he hath aught to communicate he seeks
his mother at the inns where we stop for refreshments. Truly he is a lad
beset by shyness.
"'And where is thy tongue, Peggy?' I hear thee ask.
"Well, it may be that I shall use it if he does not speak soon. Such
shyness doth engender boldness in us females. Will that please thee,
thou saucy Betty?"
"Although," soliloquized Peggy when she had made this entry, "it may not
be shyness at all, but wisdom. I have heard mother say that wise men are
not great talkers, so when the young man does speak I make no doubt but
that his words will be full of matter. I must remember them verbatim,
and set them down for the edification of The Circle."
They reached Baltimore that night instead of the next day; at so late an
hour there was no time to see the little city. It was one of the most
important places in the new states at this time, ranking after
Philadelphia and Boston in size, and growing rapidly, having been made a
port of entry the year before. There was a quarter composed entirely of
Acadian families speaking nothing but French, Nurse Johnson told her,
and Peggy made a particular note of the fact for Betty's delectation.
"Perchance when I return I can see more of it," said the maiden
philosophically as they were getting ready for their departure early the
next morning.
"I hope that you can, my dear," said Nurse Johnson. "'Twill be a hard
ride to-day, for we want to make Colchester by nightfall. I have a
cousin there with whom we can stop, which will be vastly more
pleasurable than to stay at an ordinary. If we do not make the place
to-night there would be no time for visiting to-morrow."
The roads were good and hard, and the riding pleasant in the early
morning. But as the day advanced the atmosphere became sultry, and Peggy
was conscious of more fatigue than she had felt at any time through the
journey.
"Fairfax must change with you, and let you ride Star for a time," spoke
Mrs. Johnson, regarding her with solicitude. "I am sure that will rest
you."
"I think it will," answered Peggy. "I do feel just a little weary of the
carriage, friend nurse. Perhaps thy son would like the change also? It
must be lonely for him riding all alone."
Nurse Johnson laughed as she caught the girl's look.
"You must not mind his not talking," she said. "I think he hath never
spoken to a girl in his life. Still, he is a good son, for all his
shyness."
The change to Star's back was made, and they started forward at renewed
speed. Peggy's spirits rose as she found herself on the little mare, and
she rode ahead of the vehicle sometimes, or sometimes alongside of it
chatting gayly. So pleasantly did the time pass that none of them
noticed that the sky had become overcast with clouds. A heavy drop of
rain falling upon her face compelled the girl's attention.
"Why, 'tis raining," she exclaimed in surprise.
"There's going to be a thunder-storm," cried Nurse Johnson viewing the
clouds in dismay. "How suddenly it hath come up. Fairfax, we must put in
at the nearest plantation. Let Peggy get back in with me so that she
will not get wet. Then we must make speed."
The lad got out of the vehicle obediently, and approached the girl to
assist her from the horse. As she sprang lightly to the ground, he gazed
at her earnestly for a moment as though realizing the necessity of
speech, and said:
"It looks like rain."
As he spoke the far horizon was illuminated by a succession of lurid
flashes of lightning which shone with fiery brilliancy against the black
masses of thunder-clouds. The muttering of thunder told that the storm
was almost upon them. The fact was so evident that no living being could
deny it. The lad's observation differed so from what she had expected
from him that there was no help for it, and Peggy gave way to a peal of
merry laughter.
"I cry thee pardon, Friend Fairfax," she gasped. "It doth indeed look
like rain."
For a second the young fellow stood as though not realizing the full
import of what he had said, and then, as heavy drops began to patter
rapidly through the trees, the girl's merriment infected him and he too
burst into laughter.
"It is raining," he corrected himself, which remark but added to the
girl's mirth.
"Where are we?" asked his mother as Peggy took her place beside her.
"We are near His Excellency's plantation, mother."
"His Excellency?" cried Peggy. "Do you mean General Washington's house,
friend nurse?"
"To be sure, Peggy," said Mrs. Johnson glancing about her. "Mount Vernon
lies just beyond us on our left. We must put in there."