"'Tis liberty alone that gives the flower
Of fleeting life its luster and perfume,
And we are weeds without it."
--"The Task," Cowper.
"Who is the relief for to-night?" queried Clifford of the guard as he
closed and locked the door of the hut.
"Samuels, sir," responded the soldier saluting.
"Tell him that I shall take charge at midnight," commanded Clifford. "I
am going to stand guard myself so as to make sure that naught goes
amiss." Then turning to Peggy he added: "I liked not the last remark of
that captain. It savored too much of mischief."
But Peggy, knowing that Drayton had uttered it solely for her comfort,
made no reply. The afternoon was well on toward its close when they
reached their abode, and the girl went straight to the room which she
and Harriet occupied in common.
Harriet had just donned a dainty frock of dimity, and was now dusting
her chestnut ringlets lightly with powder. She glanced at Peggy over her
shoulder.
"There is to be company for tea, Peggy," she said. "Two officers. Will
you come down?"
"No," answered Peggy sinking into a chair. "I would rather not,
Harriet."
"Don't you want something to eat, Peggy?" she asked after a quick look
at Peggy's face. "You have eaten naught since breakfast. Or a cup of
tea? You will be ill."
"No, I thank thee, Harriet." The maiden leaned her head upon her hand
drearily. The world seemed very dark just then.
"Tell me about it, my cousin," spoke Harriet abruptly. "'Twill relieve
you to talk, and I like not to see you sit there so miserable."
And at this unlooked-for sympathy on Harriet's part Peggy broke into
sudden, bitter weeping.
"He is to die," she cried. "There is no escape, Harriet. Thy brother
holds the key, and is to stand guard himself lest aught should go amiss.
He is cruel, cruel. Oh, the night is so short in summer! The sunrise
comes so soon! Would that it were winter."
"Now just how would that help you, Peggy?" demanded Harriet staring at
her. "If one is to die I see not how the season could lessen one pang.
After all, Peggy, you must admit that John Drayton deserves his fate. He
is a spy. He knew the risk he ran. The sentence is just. 'Tis the
recognized procedure in warfare."
"That doth not make it less hard to bear," cried Peggy with passion.
"Grant that 'tis just, grant that 'tis the method of procedure in
warfare, and yet when its execution falls upon kinsman or friend there
is not one of us who would not set such method of procedure at naught.
Why, when thee----" She paused suddenly.
"Yes? Go on, Peggy," said her cousin easily. "Or shall I finish for you?
You were about to speak, my cousin, of the time when I was a spy. You
are thinking that I was perhaps more guilty than John Drayton, insomuch
as he hath but given out information while I planned the captivation of
both the governor of the Jerseys and the rebel general. And you are
thinking, are you not? that you laid yourself under suspicion because of
a promise to me. And you are thinking, my little cousin, of how you
stole out like a thief in the night to aid me to make my escape. You are
thinking of that long night ride, and of all the trials and difficulties
in which it involved you. You are thinking of these things, are you
not?"
As the girl began to speak Peggy ceased her weeping, pushed back her
hair, and presently sat upright regarding her with amazement.
"Yes," she almost gasped as her cousin paused. "Yes, Harriet; I was in
very truth thinking of those things."
"And you are thinking," continued Harriet placing a jeweled comb in her
hair, and gazing into the mirror, turning her head from side to side to
note the effect, "that in spite of all that befell, you took me back to
Philadelphia with you when I was ill, and cared for me until I was
restored to health. And you are thinking of what you have done for
father, and for Clifford. What a set of ingrates you must consider us,
Peggy."
"Why does thee say these things to me, Harriet?" demanded Peggy. "How
did thee know what I was thinking? And yet thee, and thy father, and--and
Clifford too, sometimes, have been most kind to me of late. Why does
thee say them?"
"Because I should say them were I placed as you are," returned her
cousin calmly. "I think I would shout them from the house-top."
"To what purpose, my cousin? It would not procure John's release. All
that can be done was done when Clifford let me see him."
"I would not be so sure of that and I were you," observed Harriet
quietly.
"Harriet! What does thee mean?" cried Peggy, her breath coming quickly.
"Peggy, I told you once that some time I should do something that would
repay all your favors, did I not?"
"Yes." Peggy's eyes questioned her cousin's eagerly.
"Well, don't you think it's about time that I was fulfilling that
promise, my cousin? Suppose now, only suppose, that I could effect this
captain's escape? Would that please you?"
"Harriet, tell me. Tell me!" Peggy's arms were about her in a tight
embrace. "Thee knows, Harriet."
"Did it want its captain then?" laughed Harriet teasingly. "Oh, Peggy,
Peggy! what a goose you are! Now sit down, and tell me where John
Drayton is, and what Clifford said and did. Then I will unravel my
plan."
"There are two sentries beside the guard, Harriet," Peggy concluded
anxiously, as she related all that had occurred. "They patrol the house,
meet and pass each other so that each makes a complete round of the hut.
I see not how thee can do anything."
"Don't be so sure, Mistress Peggy," came from Harriet with such an
abrupt change of voice that Peggy was startled.
"That sounded just like Clifford," she said.
"Certainly it did." Harriet's eyes were sparkling now. "I can do
Clifford to the life. I can deceive even father if the light be dim. I
am going to be Captain Williams to-night, Peggy. Clifford is so
cock-sure of himself that he grows insufferable. 'Twill be rare sport to
take him down a peg. Did'st notice how he spoke to father? He needs a
lesson. And father hath been in service so long that he ought to look up
to him."
"But," objected Peggy with some excitement, "Clifford will be there on
guard. Then how can thee represent him?"
"He will retire early, as he hath already lost much sleep from watching
and following after John Drayton. He will sleep until 'tis time to go to
the watch, and, Peggy, after Clifford hath lost sleep he always sleeps
heavily. He will ask father to waken him, and father in turn will ask me
to take note of the time for fear that he might doze. Now I have one of
my brother's uniforms which I brought in this afternoon thinking that
there might be need of it. I shall don it, after slipping the key of the
hut from Cliff's pocket. Then, presto! Captain Williams will go to take
charge of his prisoner. If it be somewhat before midnight 'twill be
regarded as the natural zeal of a young officer."
"But I see not----" began Peggy.
"If I am the guard with the key in my possession, what doth hinder the
door from being opened, my cousin? If I choose to go in to speak to the
prisoner of what concern is it to any? Is he not in my charge?"
The girl spoke with such an assumption of her brother's pompous air that
Peggy laughed tremulously.
"I do believe that thee can do it," she cried. "Harriet, thee is
wonderful!"
"Certainly I can do it," returned Harriet, well pleased with this
admiration. "I shall go in and speak to the captain; explain that he is
to come out when I let him know that the sentries have passed. When they
meet and cross each other there must be a brief time when the front of
the dwelling hath but the solitary guard. Once out, however, he will
have to rely upon himself. I can do no more."
"He would not wish thee to, Harriet," spoke Peggy quickly. "He told me
that could he but pass the door and the guard he did not fear but that
he could escape."
"If Clifford goes to bed early the thing can be done," said Harriet
going to the door. "It all depends upon that. Now, Peggy, I will send
you up some tea. 'Twill be best for you to remain here; such a
distressed damsel should remain in seclusion. I will come back after
tattoo."
In spite of her cousin's optimistic words Peggy spent the time before
her return with much apprehension. It seemed to her that the night was
more than half gone ere she appeared. In reality it was but ten o'clock.
"Father thought he had better not go to bed at first," she said her eyes
glowing like stars. "I persuaded him that he ought not to lose his
rest--that while with the army he never knew when he might be called upon
for service which would not admit of repose. Therefore, 'twas the part
of wisdom to get it while he could, and I would see that he was aroused
in time to call Clifford. Everything hath gone just as we wished, and
what we have to do must be done quickly. I must be back in time to
restore the key to Cliff's pocket, and then to waken father. Help me to
undress, Peggy."
With trembling fingers Peggy unfastened her frock, and soon Harriet
stood before her arrayed in the uniform of a British officer.
"Captain Williams, at your service, madam," she said, bowing low, a
cocked beaver held gallantly over her heart. Peggy was amazed at the
transformation. Every mannerism of Clifford was reproduced with such
faithful exactitude that were it not for her wonderful eyes and
brilliant complexion she could pass easily for her brother.
"I did not know that thee was so like him," murmured Peggy. "But thine
eyes, Harriet. Clifford hath never such eyes as thine."
"'Tis lucky that 'tis dark," answered Harriet reassuringly. "They will
not be noticed in the dark. Besides, the guard will be so thankful for
relief that 'twill be a small matter to him what my eyes are like. Come,
my cousin."
With a stride that was in keeping with the character she had assumed
Harriet went swiftly down-stairs to the lower story of the dwelling
followed by the trembling Peggy, and soon they were outside in the fresh
air of the night.
It was dark, as the girl had said. Only the stars kept watch in the sky,
and objects were but dimly perceivable. The noises of the great camp
were for the most part stilled. The rows and rows of tents lying
southward and eastward of the village gleamed white and ghostlike
through the clear obscurity. The glimmer of the dying embers of many
camp-fires shone ruddily in the distance, while an occasional sentinel
could be descried keeping his monotonous vigil. Silently and quickly
went the two girls toward the hut where Drayton was. Presently Harriet
stopped under the mulberry tree.
"Wait here," she whispered. Peggy, in a quick gush of tenderness, threw
her arms about her.
"If aught should happen to thee," she murmured apprehensively.
"For shame, Mistress Peggy," chided Harriet shaking with merriment. "Is
this thy Quaker teaching? Such conduct is most unseemly. Fie, fie!"
Unloosening Peggy's clasp she walked boldly toward the hut.
In an intensity of anxiety and expectation Peggy waited. On the still
air of the summer night Harriet's voice sounded sharply incisive as she
spoke curtly to the guard, and hearing it Peggy knew that had she not
been in the secret she could not have told it from Clifford's.
"A bit early, aren't you, sir?" came the voice of the guard.
"I think not, Samuels," replied the pseudo Captain Williams in his
loftiest manner, and with a sly chuckle the guard saluted and walked
away.
A candle was burning dimly in the hut, and by its feeble rays Peggy
could discern the outlines of her cousin as she took her place on guard.
The sentries passed and repassed. Presently Harriet rose, coolly
unlocked the door and passed inside. Peggy waited breathlessly. After a
few moments her cousin reappeared, and again assumed the watchful
position at the door. At length the moment for which they waited came.
The sentries passed to the side where they crossed on the return rounds.
Harriet swung open the door, and a form darted quickly out. The intrepid
maiden closed the door noiselessly, and by the time the sentinel had
reappeared was sitting stiffly erect, on guard once more.
Soon Peggy felt her hand caught softly.
"John," she breathed.
"Peggy," he answered in so low a tone that she could scarcely
distinguish the words. "How did you manage it? I thought your cousin my
most implacable enemy."
"'Twas Harriet," she told him. "She wears Clifford's uniform."
"Harriet!" Drayton's whisper expressed the most intense astonishment.
"Harriet!" And even as he spoke the name she stood beside them.
"Come," she said. They glided after her, pausing only when they had
reached a safe distance from the hut.
"We must not stop to talk," said the English girl in peremptory tones.
"Captain Drayton, you will have to depend upon yourself now."
"Gladly," he responded having recovered from his amazement by this time.
"How can I thank you, Mistress Harriet? I----"
"You owe me no thanks," she interrupted coldly. "I did it for Peggy. We
cannot stay longer. We must get back with the key before Clifford wakes.
Go!"
"Yet none the less do I thank you," spoke the youth huskily. "'Twould
have been a shameful death. I thank you both. Good-bye!" He said no
more, but disappeared into the darkness.
With anxiety the girls returned to the house. All was as quiet as when
they left. Without incident the key was restored to Clifford's pocket,
and, donning her own attire, Harriet went to rouse Colonel Owen. For it
was near midnight.