"Oh! these were hours when thrilling joy repaid
A long, long course of darkness, doubts, and fears--
The heartsick faintness of the hope delay'd,
The waste, the woe, the bloodshed, and the tears,
That tracked with terror six long rolling years."
--"Lord of the Isles," Scott.
As the youth spoke the cannonading which for ten long days of thunderous
bombardment had raged incessantly suddenly ceased, giving place to a
stillness painful in its intensity.
"What doth that mean?" exclaimed Harriet.
"It means a cessation of hostilities," explained Clifford huskily. "It
means that old Britain is beaten. Oh! if I were Cornwallis, I'd fight
until there was not a man left. I'd never yield."
"Blame him not, Clifford," said Harriet. "He hath made a brave defense.
For my part, I am thankful that 'tis over. Have you seen father?"
"No," answered the youth. "Not since yesterday."
"Then let us find him," suggested she. "'Twill be a relief to get out of
this cave. Come, Peggy!"
And nothing loth Peggy followed her. The village was utterly wrecked. On
every side were mute tokens of the fury of the siege. The houses were
completely dismantled; in many instances literally riddled by shot. The
streets had been torn into great holes and ploughed into deep furrows by
the burrowing of shells. There were sights of horror everywhere, and the
girls grew faint and sick as they hastened with averted eyes to their
former dwelling, which was found to be less dilapidated than many of the
others. Clifford went in search of his father, and soon returned with
him. Colonel Owen was as gloomy as his son over the prospect of
surrender. He frowned at sight of Peggy.
"I suppose that you are rejoicing over our defeat, my little cousin," he
exclaimed harshly.
"I am glad indeed that the cause hath succeeded, my cousin," answered
the girl frankly. "We have fought so long that 'tis matter for rejoicing
when at length the victory is ours. Yet," she added meeting his look
with one of compassion, "I am sorry for thee, too. I grieve to see
either a proud nation or a proud man humbled."
"And is it indeed over, as Clifford says, father?" questioned Harriet.
"Yes," he told her, his whole manner expressive of the deepest chagrin.
"Washington hath consented to a cessation of hostilities for two hours,
but there is no doubt as to the outcome. Our works are shattered, and
the ammunition almost exhausted. There is naught else to do but
surrender, but 'tis a bitter dose to swallow."
He covered his face with his hands and groaned. Clifford turned upon
Peggy with something of irritation.
"Why don't you say what you are thinking?" he cried. "Say that you are
glad, but don't for pity sake look sorry for us!"
"I am not thinking of thee at all," returned Peggy wistfully, "but of
father. Neither thee nor thy father is hurt, but what of my father?"
"And do you wish to go to him?"
"Yes," she uttered eagerly.
"It can be arranged," he said. "I will see to a flag." As he started to
leave them William Owen looked up.
"Include Harriet in that too, my son," he said. "This will be a sad
place for her until after the manner of capitulation hath been
arranged."
"I shall not go, father," interposed the maiden raising her head
proudly. "An English girl hath no place among victorious foes. Send
Peggy and you will, but I shall not leave you in your humiliation."
"So be it," he said.
Thus it came about that Peggy found herself outside the British works,
advancing toward the American lines under a flag. Less than three
hundred yards from the shattered works of the British the second
parallel of the patriots extended, and in front of it were the batteries
which had raked the town with such destructive fire. Midway of this
distance they beheld the solitary figure of a man approaching, also
bearing a flag. At sight of him Peggy forgot her escort, forgot
everything, and ran forward uttering a cry of gladness.
"Father, father!" she screamed.
"My little lass!" David Owen clasped her in a close embrace. "I was
coming in search of thee. I have been wild with anxiety concerning thee
since I learned that thou wert in the town. It hath been a fearful time!
Had not our cause been just I could not have borne it. There is much to
tell and hear, lass. Let us seek a place more retired."
The batteries of the patriots, the redoubts taken from the enemy, and
the parallel, were connected by a covert way and angling works, all
mantled by more than a hundred pieces of cannon and mortars. David Owen
hurried his daughter past these quickly, for the girl paled at sight of
the dreadful engines of war whose fearful thundering had wrought such
havoc and destruction. Presently they found themselves somewhat apart
from the movements of the army, and Peggy poured forth all her woes.
There was indeed much to relate. She had not seen her father for three
long years, and in his presence she felt as though there could no longer
be trouble.
"And after they had been so kind of late," concluded Peggy in speaking
of their cousins, "they seemed just to-day as though they did not wish
me with them. Even Harriet, who hath been clamorous for me to remain
with her, seemed so."
"Mind it not, lass," said he consolingly. "'Tis because they did not
wish a witness to their humiliation. After the first brunt of feeling
hath worn away I make no doubt but that their manner will be better even
than before. Ah! yonder is Captain Drayton. The boy hath been well-nigh
crazed at thy peril. I will call him."
The rest of the day and the next also flags passed and repassed between
the lines, and on the afternoon of the latter commissioners met at the
Moore House to draw up articles of capitulation. These were acceded to
and signed. The British received the same terms which they had imposed
upon the Americans at Charlestown. Nothing now remained but the
observance of the formal surrender, which was set for the next day.
The nineteenth of October dawned gloriously. About noon the combined
armies marched to their positions in the large field lying south of the
town, and were drawn up in two lines about a mile long, on the right and
left of a road running from the village. On the right of the road were
the American troops; on the left those of the French. A large concourse
of people had gathered from all the countryside to see the spectacle.
Every countenance glowed with satisfaction and joy. The long struggle
was virtually ended. It had been a contest not for power, not for
aggrandizement, but for a great principle.
To Peggy's joy it was found that her little mare had not been killed,
and so, mounted on Star, she was permitted to view the pageant by her
father's side.
The French troops presented a most brilliant spectacle in white uniforms
with colored trimmings, and with plumed and decorated officers at their
head. Along the line floated their banners of white silk embroidered
with the golden lilies. They were gallant allies in gallant array. Their
gorgeous standards caught the glint of the sun and glittered and
sparkled in its rays. But the girl turned to view the less attractive
Americans.
There was variety of dress, poor at best. The French gentlemen laughed
at the lack of uniform, but respected the fighting abilities of the men
so clad. But if many wore but linen overalls there was a soldierly
bearing that commanded attention. These men were conquerors. Their very
appearance bespoke the hardships and privations they had undergone to
win in the struggle. Over their heads there fluttered the starry banner
which through their exertions had earned its right to live. Through
these men a nation had been born into the world. The golden lilies were
soon to wither; the red, white and blue of America was to be taken later
by France in their stead.
At two o'clock the captive army filed out of the garrison. "Let there be
no cheering," had been the order from Washington. "They have made a
brave defense." And so the march was made between silent ranks of
conquerors, the music being the then well-known air of "The World Turned
Upside Down." The tune probably expressed very accurately the feelings
of the men who were to lay down their arms that autumn afternoon. Their
world had indeed been turned upside down when they were prisoners of the
men whom they had affected to despise. Each soldier had been given a new
uniform by Cornwallis, and the army marched quietly and with precision
to the field where they were to lay down their arms. But if there was
quietness there was sullenness also. The pride and spirit of Britain
were put to a severe test, and many could scarcely conceal their
mortification as they marched with cased colors, an indignity that had
been inflicted upon the garrison at Charlestown.
As they came forth every eye sought, not the plumed leader of the
French, but the plainly attired gentleman who sat upon a noble charger,
and viewed their coming with an inscrutable countenance. This was the
man but for whom they would have been victorious--that noble and gracious
figure which signified to all the world that the American Revolution had
ended in complete victory, the Virginia planter, whom they had despised
at the beginning of the conflict. They regarded him now with something
nearly approaching awe--the leader who had encountered trials and
obstacles such as no general had ever before been called upon to face.
The trials had been overcome and endured; the obstacles surmounted, and
the country carried on to victory in spite of itself.
Earl Cornwallis pleaded indisposition, and sent the soldiers who
worshipped him out to stand their humiliation without him. It was
General O'Hara who tendered his sword to General Washington who, with
dignity, motioned that it should be given to General Lincoln, who had
been in command at Charlestown when that place surrendered to the
British.
It was over at last, and the stars and stripes floated from the redoubts
at Yorktown. The officers were released on parole, and the men were to
be held prisoners in the states of Virginia and Maryland.
"And now what shall be done with thee, lass?" queried David Owen of
Peggy.
"Let us go home, father," cried Peggy. "I am so tired of war and its
surroundings. Can thee not get a leave?"
"Yes," he said. "To-morrow we will start for home."
"For home and mother," cried Peggy joyfully.
The Stories in this Series are:
PEGGY OWEN
PEGGY OWEN, PATRIOT
PEGGY OWEN AT YORKTOWN
PEGGY OWEN AND LIBERTY
* * * * *
LUCY FOSTER MADISON
Mrs. Madison was born in Kirkville, Adair County, Missouri, but when she
was four years old her parents removed to Louisiana, Missouri, and there
her girlhood was spent. She was educated in the public schools of that
place, and graduated from the High School with the highest honor--the
valedictory.
As a child she was passionately fond of fairy stories, dolls and
flowers. Up to her eleventh year the book that influenced her most was
"Pilgrim's Progress." Mrs. Madison's father had a large library filled
with general literature, and she read whatever she thought interesting.
In this way she became acquainted with the poets, ancient history and
the novelists, Dickens and Scott. It was not until she was twelve that
she came in contact with Miss Alcott's works, but after that Joe, Meg,
Amy and Beth were her constant companions. At this time she was also
devoted to "Scottish Chiefs," "Thaddeus of Warsaw" and "Ivanhoe," and
always poetry.
She doesn't remember a time when she did not write. From her earliest
childhood she made up little stories. In school she wrote poems, stories
and essays. When she became a teacher she wrote her own stories and
entertainments for the children's work.
Mrs. Madison's stories for girls are:
Peggy Owen
Peggy Owen, Patriot
Peggy Owen at Yorktown
Peggy Owen and Liberty
A Colonial Maid of Old Virginia
A Daughter of the Union
In Doublet and Hose
A Maid of King Alfred's Court
A Maid of the First Century
End of Project Gutenberg's Peggy Owen at Yorktown, by Lucy Foster Madison