"How much the heart may bear, and yet not break!
How much the flesh may suffer and not die!
I question much if any pain or ache
Of soul or body brings our end more nigh:
Death chooses his own time; till that is sworn,
All evils may be borne."
--Elizabeth Akers Allen.
"Has thee had any news of the army lately, friend nurse?" questioned
Peggy one morning a week after Harriet's arrival.
Nurse Johnson glanced quickly about to make sure that they were alone
before she replied:
"I had a short letter from Fairfax a few days since, Peggy. He said that
the Marquis had received word that a force under General Wayne was
coming to help in the defense of the state. He was on the point of
breaking camp at Richmond and marching up to the border to meet him.
Cornwallis hath already begun operations on the south side of the James.
'Tis said that he boasts that the people will return to their allegiance
as soon as they find that their new rulers are not able to give them
military protection. With that end in view the earl hath established a
veritable reign of terror wherever his troops march. He is harrying and
ravaging all plantations, running off the negroes, or inciting them
against their masters. In truth," ended the good woman with some
bitterness, "if aught escaped the vigilance of the invading forces under
Phillips and Arnold it hath been reserved only for the keener eye of a
more pitiless enemy."
"And thy son, friend nurse? Is he well?" inquired the girl, for a shadow
lay on Nurse Johnson's brow that was not caused by the tidings of
Cornwallis' ravages, harrowing as they were.
"I am worried about him, Peggy," she admitted. "He is in truth far from
well, and feared an attack of fever when he wrote. He did not like to
ask for leave to come home, the need of men is so great; but felt that
he must do so did he not get better."
"How dreadful a thing war is!" sighed Peggy. "The poor fellow! to be ill
and weak yet to stay on because of the need the country hath of men.
'Tis heroic, friend nurse."
"Ah, child, 'tis little a mother cares for heroics when her only son is
suffering for lack of care. Sick and starving also, it may be."
"I have been selfish," broke from the girl remorsefully. "I have been so
full of my woe that I had forgot how our poor soldiers are in want of
everything. It hath seemed to me at times that I could not bear to stay
down here longer. Thee knows I have not heard from mother at all. I know
she must be worried if she hath not heard from me."
"Your being here is cause for worry," said the nurse soberly.
"Williamsburg is in the path of the armies, though it does seem as
though we had been visited enough by them. Would that you were home,
Peggy, but I see no way of your getting there. The expresses can scarce
get through."
"Thee said that General Wayne was to join the Marquis," spoke the girl
eagerly. "He is from my own state, friend nurse. I make no doubt but
that he would help me could I but reach his lines. And the Marquis----Why,
Robert Dale is with the Marquis' forces! I remember now that Betty told
me he had been placed there for valor. Thee sees that I have plenty of
friends could I but reach our own lines unmolested."
"'Tis not to be thought of," said Nurse Johnson shaking her head
decidedly. "No, Peggy; 'tis irksome to stay here under the conditions of
things, but I see not how it can be helped. Ah! here is your cousin. How
beautiful she is!"
"Where are you going, Peggy?" asked Harriet as she entered the room, her
wonderful gray eyes lighting into a smile at Nurse Johnson's last words.
"I am going to the college to see the museum of natural history,
Harriet. Will thee come with me?"
"Not I, Peggy. Such things are too tiresome," yawned Harriet. "And
Clifford won't go for a ride. He said that he had something to attend to
to-day. 'Tis no use to tease Cliff when he makes up his mind. He is
worse than father."
"Well, if thee won't come," and Peggy tied the ribbons of her leghorn
hat under her chin, "thee must not mind if I go."
"I wish I were back in New York," pouted her cousin. "'Tis slow down
here. Had I known that Clifford was so well I would not have come.
However, there will be some amusement when the army under Lord
Cornwallis gets into quarters. I dare say father will take a house then.
Of course he will want us to look after it."
"Is thy father with Lord Cornwallis?" asked Peggy quickly.
"Of course, Peggy. The Welsh Fusileers always stay with him. When we
left him at Camden he was to join Cornwallis, you remember."
"Yes," assented Peggy absently, "but I had forgot for the moment."
In thoughtful mood she left the cottage. It seemed to her as though she
were caught in the meshes of a web from which there was no escape. Here
were Clifford and Harriet with the possibility of Colonel Owen appearing
upon the scene at any moment. When he came Peggy knew that she would be
unable to do anything. If only she could reach the American lines, she
thought, a way would be opened for her to proceed to Philadelphia.
The air was rife with rumors concerning the capture and narrow escapes
of the postriders. It seemed almost next to impossible for them to get
through to Philadelphia! How then could she, a mere girl, hope to
accomplish what they could not?
"And yet," Peggy mused, "I must try. I dare not wait until Cousin
William comes for he will take Harriet and me with him wherever he goes.
I know not how it will end."
She had reached the college campus by this time, and now paused
thoughtfully looking up at the statue of Norborne Berkeley, Lord
Botetourt,--most beloved of all the royal governors,--which had been
erected on the green.
"I bid you good-morrow, little cousin," spoke a voice pleasantly, and
Peggy started to find Clifford beside her.
The lad smiled at the glance of surprise that Peggy gave at his mode of
address, and continued:
"I thought you had deserted me entirely. Was care of me so irksome that
you are glad to be rid of me?"
"No, Clifford; but thee had thy sister," responded Peggy who had in
truth left the brother entirely to his sister. "Thee had no need of me
longer, as thee is not now an invalid."
"True, I am no longer an invalid, Cousin Peggy. Still are there not some
matters to be settled betwixt us? Why have you not reproached me for my
doubt of you?"
"When thee found that I had spoke naught but truth what more was there
to be said, my cousin?" queried Peggy seriously. "Thy conscience should
do the reproaching."
"And it hath," he rejoined. "You have given me no opportunity to ask
pardon but I do so now. There were many things that I did not know that
Harriet hath told me. There are still many that require explanation in
order to have a good understanding of affairs. But this I have gathered;
all of us, father, Harriet and I, seem to be under deep obligation to
you and your family. And my debt is not the least of the three. I wish
to repay you in some measure for your care of me. As my excuse I can
only say that while I knew that we had cousins in this country I knew
little concerning them. I left home shortly after father came over, and
so knew naught of his stay with you. And that captain with the shirt
Harriet made----" he paused abruptly and clenched his hands involuntarily.
"I thought you were like him and all other Americans I had met," he
continued--"boasting braggarts who had wooed my sister from her true
allegiance. I cry your pardon, my cousin. Will you give it me?"
"For all doubt of me, thee has it, Clifford," responded the girl
sweetly, touched by his evident contrition. "But for what thee thinks of
Americans, no. There are some among us who are not as we would have them
be. Among all peoples the good and bad are mingled. I dare say thee is
not proud of all Englishmen. We are not a nation of braggarts, as thee
thinks. It hath taken something more than braggadocio to repulse thy
soldiers for six long years. It hath taken courage, bravery and a grim
resolution to win in spite of famine and the greatest odds that ever an
army faced. Those things belong not to boasters, my cousin."
"A truce, a truce," he cried. "I am routed completely. I admit that
Americans have bravery. Odds life! and tenacity also, when it comes to
that. Where get they that obstinacy that enables them to rise after
every defeat?"
"Where do they get it?" she asked. "Why, from their English blood, of
course. Thee and thy fellows forget that they are of thine own blood.
Oh, the pity of it! And see how thy people are treating this state!"
"'Tis fortune of war," he uttered hastily. "And that brings me to the
pith of this interview. I have intelligence that Lord Cornwallis is
marching toward Richmond, which he will reach the last of this week.
Therefore, I shall escort you and Harriet to Portsmouth to-morrow, and
see you aboard the 'Iris,' bound for New York. I wish to join the earl
at Richmond, and I wish to see you in safety before doing so."
"Thee must leave me out of such a plan, Clifford," spoke Peggy quietly.
"I am not going to New York. When I was there before only the river lay
betwixt my mother and me, yet I was not permitted to cross it. I should
be a prisoner as thee would be in Philadelphia. I could not bear it."
"But you cannot remain here, Peggy," he remonstrated. "I am doing what
seems to me the best that can be done for you. The country is overrun by
soldiers of both sides. Were you able to get through the British lines
there still remain the rebels."
"Thee has no need to trouble concerning me at all, my cousin," spoke
Peggy with some heat. "If I can reach the rebel lines, as thee calls
them, I shall be sent through. I am not going to New York in any event."
"I shall not permit you to remain here," he said, determination written
on every feature. "I am your nearest male relative in this part of the
country, and as such I shall do what I think is best for you. Come,
little cousin, be reasonable. Harriet shall use her influence, once New
York is reached, to see that you go to your mother. Will not that
content you?"
"It doth not content me," replied the girl, her whole nature roused to
resistance. Too well she knew what Harriet's promises were to rely upon
them. "I am grateful to thee, Clifford, for thy thought of me; but thee
must give o'er anything that hath New York for its end and aim."
"But I cannot let you stay here," he cried again. "The game is up as far
as these people are concerned. I cannot let you remain to be a sharer in
their miseries and distresses. Be reasonable, Peggy."
"I am reasonable, Clifford. Reasonable with the reason born of
experience. These people are my people. If I cannot get home I prefer to
share their misery, rather than to be at ease among the British. Attend
to thy sister, but leave me to do as I think best, I beg."
"'Tis futile to talk further concerning the matter," he said. "You must
be made to do what is best for you." With this he left her.
"I can tarry here no longer," Peggy told herself as she watched
Clifford's retreating figure. "My cousin is sincere in the belief that
it is the best thing to do. Were Harriet to be relied upon----But no; too
many promises have been broken to trust her now. I must try to get to
our lines. I will go in the morning."
The light was just breaking in the east the next morning when Peggy
softly stole into the stable where Star was, and deftly saddled and
bridled the little mare.
"We are going home, Star," she whispered as she led the pony out of the
stable and yard to the road. "It will all depend on thee, thou dear
thing! Do thy very best, for thee will have to get us there."