"Snatch from the ashes of your sires,
The embers of the former fires;
And leave your sons a hope, a fame,
They too will rather die than shame;
For Freedom's battle once begun,
Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son,
Though baffled oft is ever won."
--"The Giaour," Byron.
"You are late," spoke Clifford Owen with anything but an amiable
expression when at length Peggy reached his bedside. "Methought you had
forgot that I lay here without breakfast?"
"Nay, my cousin," said the girl apologetically. "I started with thy
breakfast some time since, but one of thy generals stopped me; and then,
as the broth was cold, I tarried in the hospital kitchen to warm it."
"Is it the everlasting broth again?" queried the boy irritably. "Odds
life! I think that Yankee doctor is determined to keep me here all
summer. How can a fellow gain strength with naught but broth to eat?"
"Thee should not speak so of the good doctor," reproved Peggy gently.
"And to show thee that thee should not, know that that same Yankee
doctor said, when I was warming the broth, that thee was strong enough
to take something other than it. And he had me prepare, what does thee
think? Why, a soft-boiled egg and a bit of toast. So there, my cousin!
is not that a nice breakfast?"
"It isn't half enough," grumbled her cousin. "One little egg, and one
piece of toast that would scarce cover a half joe. Why, I could eat a
whole ox, I believe. I tell you the fellow wants to keep me on a thin
diet for fear that I will get strong enough to fight. I am going to have
one of the British surgeons look me over."
"Thee is cross, and hungry; which is vastly encouraging," commented the
maiden sagely.
The youth looked up at her with the merest suspicion of a smile.
"If being cross and hungry are encouraging symptoms," he said somewhat
grimly, "I think I ought to get up right now. I'd like to tear this bed
to pieces, I am so tired of it; and as for hunger----" He paused as though
words failed to express his feelings.
"Then thee had better fall to at once," suggested Peggy. "And thee is
talking too much, I fear."
"No," he said. "The coming of the army hath put new life into me. I am
no longer a prisoner, Mistress Peggy. That in itself is enough to cure
one of any malady. Think! 'twill not be long ere I shall come and go at
pleasure. Nor shall I be bound by a parole."
"But thee must be patient a little longer," advised the maiden, as he
resigned the tray to her with a sigh of content. "Thee must not overdo
just at this time, else thee will tax thy new-found strength too much.
And I wish to thank thee again, my cousin, for thy kindness yesterday.
Thy people have not molested us in any way, and thy friend, the officer
who spoke with thee, hath placed a guard about our house to ensure our
safety. Both Nurse Johnson and I appreciate thy thoughtfulness. We might
have fared ill had it not been for thee."
"I like not to be beholden to any," he remarked. "'Twill serve to repay
in part for your nursing. I see not yet why you should journey so far to
care for an unknown kinsman."
"Thee did not seem unknown to me, my cousin," returned Peggy quietly.
"Thy father stayed with us for nearly a year when he was upon parole in
Philadelphia. And I have been with Harriet for two years almost
constantly. Then, too, the dictates of humanity would scarce let us
leave thee down here without any of thy kin near. That is all,
Clifford."
And Peggy would discuss the matter no further. Her heart was very warm
toward her cousin, and she did not wish a repetition of the conversation
of the day before. Seeing that he was inclined to converse too much she
quietly withdrew, and busied herself in other parts of the hospital,
winding bandages for the surgeons, or reading to the sick. She feared to
return to the cottage lest she should again meet with General Arnold;
and that, Peggy told herself, she could not bear. At length, however,
just about sunset, which was her usual time for returning, she ventured
forth.
The evening was a lovely one. The sun had sunk beyond the belts of
forest lying to the westward of the town, leaving the sky rosy and
brilliant. The street was deserted, and breathing a sigh of relief the
maiden hastened to the cottage. She found Mrs. Johnson awaiting her.
"You are late, child," she said with so distraught an air that Peggy
looked up quickly. "I was beginning to fear that some ill might have
befallen you. What kept you so?"
"Friend nurse," answered Peggy with some agitation, "General Arnold
stopped me this morning when I went to the hospital with my cousin's
breakfast. I feared lest I should meet with him again, so I waited until
the street was clear."
"Arnold, the traitor?" exclaimed Nurse Johnson.
"The very same. I knew him in Philadelphia when he was our general. I
liked not to talk with him, but he would not let me pass. Friend nurse,
does thee think the British will stay here long?"
"'Tis hard to tell, Peggy. I blame you not for not wanting to meet with
him, but 'tis a thing that will be unavoidable in this small town if
they stay any length of time. I think he must be with General Phillips
at the palace. I wish," ended the good woman with the feeling that all
Americans held toward the traitor, "I wish that we might do something to
capture him. 'Tis said that His Excellency is most anxious to effect
it."
"Yes; but naught can be done with an army back of him. But something
worries thee, and I have done naught but speak of my own anxiety. What
is it?"
"'Tis Fairfax," Nurse Johnson told her in troubled tones. "He is hiding
in the forest, and wishes to come home for the night. I had a note from
him. He tried to creep in to-day, but was deterred by seeing the guard
in the yard. Of course, I knew that the militia must have fled to the
forest, and the poor fellows are in want of food because the British
have ravaged all the plantations near. If the boy could get in without
the knowledge of the guard he could stay in the garret until the
soldiers leave. But how to accomplish it I know not. He will be in the
palace grounds to-night a little after sunset, he said. And he wished me
to meet him there. But I promised the guard that I would cook them
Indian cakes to-night, and so I cannot leave without arousing their
suspicion. 'Tis time to go now, and to serve the cakes also. What to do
I know not."
"Why could I not go to thy son, while thee stays and cooks the cakes?"
asked Peggy eagerly.
"Why, child, that might do! I did not think of that; yet I like not to
send you out again so late."
"It is not late. The dark hath come only in the shadow, which will be
the better. And where will he be, friend nurse? The grounds are so large
that I might go astray if I did not know the exact spot."
"He will be in the great grove of lindens which lies on the far side of
the grounds," the nurse told her. "Yet I like not----"
"Say no more, friend nurse," said Peggy quickly. "'Tis settled that I am
to go. Now tell me just what thee wishes me to do."
After some further expostulation on the part of the nurse she consented
that the girl should go to meet the lad, carrying some of his mother's
clothes which he should don, and so arrayed come back to the cottage.
"I wonder," mused Nurse Johnson, "if he knew that the English general
hath his headquarters in the palace. 'Tis a rash proceeding to venture
so near. If he is taken they will make him either swear allegiance to
the king, or else give him a parole. Fairfax will take neither, so it
means prison for the boy. Foolish, foolish, to venture here!"
"But all will be well if we can but get him here unbeknown to the
guard," consoled Peggy. "Friend nurse, cook many cakes, and regale them
so bountifully that they will linger long over the meal; and it may be
that Fairfax can slip in unobserved."
"The very thing!" ejaculated the nurse excitedly. "What a wit you have,
Peggy. I begin to think that we can get him here, after all."
She bundled up one of her frocks hastily, saying as she gave it to the
girl:
"Of course you must be guided by circumstances, my child, but come back
as quickly as possible lest the guard be through with the meal. If they
can be occupied----"
"I will hasten," promised Peggy. "And now good-bye. Oh, I'll warrant
those guards will never have again such a meal as thee will give them.
Now don't be too anxious."
"But I shall be," answered the nurse with a sigh. "Not only anent
Fairfax but you also."
Peggy passed out of the cottage quickly, and went toward the hospital.
It was so usual a thing for her to go back and forth that the going
attracted no attention from the guards. Now the hospital had an entrance
that opened directly into the palace grounds, and Peggy availed herself
of this convenience.
The grounds were very large, and it was fortunate that she knew the
exact situation of the grove of linden trees, else she must have become
bewildered. The lawns were in a sad state of neglect, overrun with vines
and wild growths; for, since Lord Dunmore, the last royal governor, had
left, the mansion had held but an occasional tenant. So much of
underbrush was there that it was a comparatively easy matter for Peggy
to pass unobserved through the trees in the gathering dusk of the
twilight. A guard had been placed in the immediate vicinity of the
mansion, and the town itself was thoroughly picketed so that sentinels
in the remoter parts of the grounds were infrequent. And unobserved
Peggy presently reached the great grove of lindens, the pride of the
former royal governor.
The moon was just rising through a bank of threatening clouds which had
gathered since the sunset. They obscured the moonlight at one moment,
then swept onward permitting the full light of the orb to shine. Peggy's
voice trembled a little as she called softly:
"Friend Fairfax!"
"Mistress Peggy!" Fairfax Johnson rose slowly from the copse near the
grove, and came toward her.
"Is it thou?" asked Peggy in a low tone. Then as he drew closer: "Thee
is to put on this frock, friend. 'Tis thy mother's. Then thee is to come
boldly back to the cottage with me, and enter while thy mother hath the
guard in the kitchen regaling them with Indian cakes and honey. Be
quick!"
The youth took the bundle silently, and retired a short distance from
her. The clouds cleared in the next few moments, discovering Master
Fairfax arrayed in his mother's frock, which was a trifle long for him.
He stumbled as he tried to approach Peggy, and grabbed at his skirts
awkwardly.
"Thee must not stride, friend," rebuked Peggy in a shrill whisper. "Thee
is a woman, remember. Walk mincingly. So! Hold not thy skirt so high.
Thy boots will betray thee. No woman had ever so large a foot. Oh, dear!
I don't believe that thee will ever get by the guards. And thy mother is
uneasy about thee."
"I'll do better," answered the youth eagerly. "Indeed, I will try to do
better, Mistress Peggy. Show me just once more. Remember that I've never
been a woman before."
"'Tis no time for frivolity," chided the girl, laughing a little
herself. "There! 'tis a decided improvement, Friend Fairfax. I think we
may start now. And as we go thee may tell me why thee should be so rash
as to venture into the town while the enemy is here. Thy mother wondered
anent the matter. Why did thee, friend?"
"Why, because the Marquis de Lafayette hath entered the state, and is
marching to meet the British," he answered. "The militia of Williamsburg
is to join him. We march at daybreak. I wanted to see mother before
going, and to get something to eat. I have eaten naught since yesterday
morning."
"Why, thou poor fellow," exclaimed Peggy. "No wonder thee would dare
greatly. And 'tis venturesome, friend. Vastly so! And hath the Marquis
come from General Washington?"
"Yes; he hath twelve hundred regulars, and everywhere in tide-water
Virginia the militia are rising to join him. We must do all we can to
keep the old Dominion from being overrun by the enemy. The meeting place
is near the Richmond hills."
"Thank you for the information," came a sarcastic voice, and from out of
the gloom there stepped a figure in the uniform of an English officer.
The moon, bursting through the clouds at this moment, revealed the dark
face of Benedict Arnold. Peggy gave a little cry as she recognized him.
"So this is your trysting place," he said glancing about the grove.
"Upon my word a most romantic spot for a meeting, but a trace too near
the enemy for absolute security. You realize, do you not, that you are
both prisoners?"
"Sir," spoke Fairfax Johnson, "do with me as you will, but this maiden
hath done naught for which she should be made a prisoner. She but came
to conduct me to my mother."
"And 'tis no trysting place," interposed Peggy with some indignation.
"The lad but ventured here to see his mother. He hath eaten nothing
since yesterday morning. The least, the very least thee can do is to
first let him see his mother, and have a good meal."
"And then?" he questioned as though enjoying the situation. "Upon my
word, Miss Peggy, you plead well for him. I have heard you plead for
another youth, have I not?"
"Thee has," answered she with spirit. "But then I pleaded with an
American officer, a gallant and brave man. Now----"
"Yes, and now?" he demanded fiercely. "Have I no bowels of compassion,
think you, because I have changed my convictions? I will show you,
Mistress Peggy, that I am not so vile a thing as you believe. Go! You
and this youth also. The information he hath so unwittingly given is of
far more value than he would be as a prisoner. We had not yet been
advised of Lafayette's whereabouts, and we were anxious to know them. We
have tarried at this town for want of that very intelligence. Therefore,
go! but take this advice: Hereafter, choose your meeting place at a spot
other than the enemy's headquarters." He laughed sneeringly, and turning
strode off under the trees.
"I would rather he had taken me prisoner," observed the lad gloomily.
"Well, I am glad that he did not," answered Peggy. "Thy mother would
have grieved so. Come, Friend Fairfax! With such a man one knows not how
long his mood of mercy will last. Let us hasten while we may."
He followed her awkwardly. They reached the cottage without further
molestation, and entered it unobserved.
On the morning following the drums beat assembly soon after the sounding
of the reveille. The different commands filed out of their camps, and,
forming into a column, took up the line of march out of the city.