"Paradise is under the shadow of swords."
--Mahomet.
"Thee must excuse me, Friend John. I am late with thy dinner because
General Arnold dined with us, and we sat long at table," explained Peggy
the next day as she entered the room where Drayton sat.
"Arnold?" cried the young fellow, starting up. "Was General Arnold here?
Here? Under this very roof? Could I get a glimpse of him?"
He ran to the front window as he spoke and threw it open. Now this
window faced upon Chestnut Street, and there was danger of being seen,
so Peggy ran to him in great perturbation.
"Come back," she cried in alarm. "Some one might see thee. He hath gone.
Thou canst not see him. Dost forget that if any see thee thou mayst be
taken?"
"I had forgot," said Drayton, drawing back into the room. "You did not
speak of me?" he asked quickly, with some excitement.
"Nay; calm thyself. We spoke naught of thee to him, nor to any. Have I
not said we would not? Was thee not under the general during the march
into Canada?"
"Yes; but he was a colonel then. Hath his wound healed yet? Last spring
at Valley Forge he was still on crutches. Is he still crippled?"
"Yes, he is still lame. He uses the crutches when he hath not one of his
soldier's arms to lean upon."
"Would that he had mine to lean upon," cried Drayton, with such feeling
that Peggy was surprised.
"Why? Does thee think so much of him?" she asked.
"I'd die for him," uttered the lad earnestly. "There isn't one of us
that was on that march to Quebec under him who wouldn't."
"Suppose thee tells me about it," suggested Peggy. "I have heard
something of the happenings of that time, but not fully. The city rings
with his prowess and gallant deeds. 'Tis said that he is generous and
kind as well as brave."
"'Tis said rightly, Mistress Peggy. Doth he not care for the orphans of
Joseph Warren who fell at Bunker Hill? In that awful march was there
ever a kinder or more humane leader? No tongue can tell the sufferings
and privations we endured on that march through the wilderness, but
there was no murmuring. We knew that he was doing the best that could be
done, and that if ever man could take us through that man was Benedict
Arnold. I cannot describe what hardships we endured, but as we
approached the St. Lawrence River I became so ill that I could no longer
march. Utterly exhausted, I sank down on a log, and watched the troops
pass by me. In the rear came Colonel Arnold on horseback. Seeing me
sitting there, pale and dejected, he dismounted and came over to me.
"'And what is it, my boy?' he asked. 'I--I'm sick,' I blubbered, and
burst out crying.
"He didn't say a word for a minute, and then he turned and ran down to
the river bank, and halloed to a house which stood near. The owner came
quickly, and Colonel Arnold gave him silver money to look after me until
I should get well. Then with his own hands he helped me into the boat,
gave me some money also, and said that I must not think of joining them
until I was quite strong. Oh!" cried Drayton huskily, "he was always
like that. Always doing something for us to make it easier."
"And did thee join him again?" questioned Peggy, her voice not quite
steady. She had heard of the love that soldiers often have for their
leaders, but she had not come in touch with it before.
"Ay! who could forsake a commander like that? As soon as I was able I
followed after them with all speed. In November we stood at last on the
Plains of Abraham before Quebec. We were eager to attack the city at
once, but Sir Guy Carleton arrived with reinforcements, and we could not
hope to take the city until we too were reinforced. Finally we were
joined by General Montgomery and three hundred men, and the two leaders
made ready to assault the town.
"On the last day of the year, in the midst of a driving snow-storm we
started. It was so dark and stormy that in order that we might recognize
each other each soldier wore a white band of paper on his cap on which
was written--Liberty or Death!
"General Montgomery was to attack the lower town by way of Cape Diamond
on the river, while Colonel Arnold was to assault the northern part. The
storm raged furiously, but we reached the Palace Gate in spite of it.
The alarm was ringing from all the bells in the city, drums were
beating, and the artillery opened upon us. With Colonel Arnold at our
front we ran along in single file, bending our heads to avoid the storm,
and holding our guns under cover of our coats to keep our powder dry.
"The first barrier was at Sault au Matelot, and here we found ourselves
in a narrow way, swept by a battery, with soldiers firing upon us from
the houses on each side of the passage. But Arnold was not daunted. He
called out, 'Come on, boys!' and we rushed on. 'Twas always that. He
never said, 'Go, boys!' like some of the officers. 'Twas always 'Come
on, boys!' and there he'd be at our head. I tell you a braver man never
lived.
"Well, as he rushed on cheering us to the assault, he was struck by a
musket ball just at the moment of the capture of the barrier. His leg
was broken, and he fell upon the snow. Then, can you believe it, he got
up somehow, though he could only use one leg, and endeavored to press
forward. Two of us dropped our muskets, and ran to him, but he refused
to leave the field until the main body of the troops came up. He stood
there leaning on us for support, and calling to the troops in a cheering
voice as they passed, urging them onward. When at last he consented to
be taken from the field his steps could be traced by the blood which
flowed from the wound."
"Was it the same one that was hurt at Saratoga?" queried Peggy.
"The very same. And no sooner was he recovered than he was in action
again. Although the attack on the city was a failure he would not give
up the idea of its capture. I believe that had not General Montgomery
fallen it would have succeeded."
"'Twas at Quebec that William McPherson fell," mused Peggy. "He was the
first one of our soldiers to fall. Philadelphia is proud of his renown.
But oh, he was so young, and so full of patriotic zeal and devotion to
the cause of liberty!"
"Every one was full of it then," observed Drayton sadly. "When we were
on the Plains of Abraham before the battlements of the lofty town, think
you that no thought came to us of how Wolfe, the victorious Wolfe,
scaled those rocks and forced the barred gates of the city? I tell you
that there was not one of us whose heart did not feel kinship with that
hero. His memory inspired us. His very presence seemed to pervade the
field, and we knew that our leaders were animated by the memory of his
victory."
"Thou hast felt like that, and yet thou hast deserted?" exclaimed the
girl involuntarily.
A deep flush dyed the young fellow's face. He sat very still for a
moment and then answered with passion:
"Have I not given all that is necessary? And I have suffered, Mistress
Peggy. I have suffered that which is worse than death. Why, death upon
the battle-field is glorious! I do not fear it. But 'tis the long
winters; the cold, sleepless nights, huddling in scanty wisps of straw,
or over a low fire for warmth; the going without food, or having but
enough to merely keep life within one. This it is that takes the heart
out of a man. I'll bear it no more."
Two great tears forced themselves from Peggy's eyes, and coursed down
her cheeks. "Thee has borne so much," she uttered chokingly. "So much,
Friend John, that I wonder thee has lived to tell it. And having borne
so much 'tis dreadful to ask more of thee, and yet to have thee
fail--fail just at the very last! To dim such an honorable record! To
blot out all that thou hast endured by desertion! Oh, how could thee?
How could thee? Could thee not endure a little more?"
Drayton stirred restlessly.
"They haven't treated me well," he blurted out. "I wanted to be in the
Select Corps, and they wouldn't put me there. And I merited it, Mistress
Peggy. I tell you I merited it."
"What is the Select Corps, John?" asked the girl curiously.
"'Tis a body of soldiers made up of picked men from the whole army," he
returned. "They are always in advance, and lead every charge in an
active campaign. I wanted to be there, and they wouldn't put me in."
"But," persisted Peggy speaking in a low tone, "does thee think that thy
general would desert as thee has done just because he was not treated
well? Thee knows that 'tis only of late that Congress would give him his
proper rank."
"He desert!" The boy's sullen eyes lighted up again at the mere mention
of his hero, and he laughed. "Why, I verily believe that General Arnold
would fight if everybody else in America stopped fighting. Why, at
Saratoga when General Gates deprived him of his command, and ordered him
to stay in his tent, he would not. When we boys heard what had been
done, we were afraid he would leave us, and so we got up a petition
asking him to wait until after the battle. And, though he was smarting
from humiliation, he promised that he'd stay with us. But Gates told him
not to leave the tent, and ordered us forward. We went, but our hearts
were heavy to be without him.
"At the first sound of battle, however, he rushed from the tent, threw
himself on his horse, and dashed to where we were, crying, 'No man shall
keep me in my tent this day. If I am without command, I will fight in
the ranks; but the soldiers, God bless them, will follow my lead.'
"How we cheered when we saw him coming! Brandishing his broad-sword
above his head, he dashed into the thickest of the fight, calling the
old, 'Come on, boys! Victory or death!' and the regiments followed him
like a whirlwind. The conflict was terrible, but in the midst of flame
and smoke, and metal hail, he was everywhere. His voice rang out like a
trumpet, animating and inspiring us to valor. He led us to victory, but
just as the Hessians, terrified by his approach, turned to flee, they
delivered a volley in their retreat that shot his horse from under him.
At the same instant a wounded German private fired a shot which struck
him in that same leg that had been so badly lacerated at Quebec, two
years before.
"As he fell he cried out to us, 'Rush on, my brave boys, rush on!' But
one, in fury at seeing the general wounded, dashed at the wounded
German, and would have run him through with his bayonet had not the
general cried: 'Don't hurt him, he but did his duty. He is a fine
fellow.'"
"I don't wonder that thee loves him," cried Peggy, her eyes sparkling at
the recital. "I believe with thee that though all others should fail he
would fight the enemy even though he would fight alone. Oh, I must get
thee to tell mother this! I knew not that he was so brave!"
"Yes," reiterated Master Drayton positively. "He would fight even though
he fought alone. But I am not made of such stuff. I am no hero, Mistress
Peggy. Beside, have not the Parley-voos come over to fight for us? They
have all the honors given them; let them have the miseries too."
"But why should the French fight our battles for us?" demanded the girl
bluntly. "They are only to help us. Why should they exert themselves to
save that which we do not value enough to fight for?"
"'Tis expected by the army, anyway," said Drayton. "I know that I'll do
no more."
"Thee is a poor tired lad," said the girl gently. "And thy dinner. See
how little thou hast eaten. I have talked too long with thee to-day.
Later we will renew the subject."
"Renew it an you will," retorted the boy assuming again his jaunty
manner, half defiance, half swagger. "'Twill make no difference. I have
served my last. Unless the recruiting officer finds me you won't catch
me in the army again."
Peggy smiled a knowing little smile, but made no answer.
"We shall see," she thought as she left the room. "Methinks thee has
some martial spirit left, Friend John."