"Though your prognostics run too fast,
They must be verified at last."
--Swift.
"And here is some one to see thee, Peggy," said Mrs. Owen a week later,
coming into the little chamber under the eaves which the two maidens
occupied in common. "Bring thy cousin and come down."
"Is it John, mother?" asked Peggy, letting her tambour frame fall to the
floor. "I wondered why we did not see him."
"Yes, 'tis John, Peggy, though he is called Ensign Drayton here. Perhaps
'twould be as well for us to term him so, too."
"Come, Harriet," called Peggy rising. "Let us run down. 'Tis our first
caller."
"And being a soldier let us prepare for him," said the English girl,
reaching for a box. "What would we females be without powder? 'Tis as
necessary to us as to a soldier, for 'tis as priming to our looks as
'tis to a gun. There! will I do, Peggy?"
"Thee is beautiful, my cousin," replied Peggy with warm admiration.
"Thee does not need powder nor anything else to set off thy looks."
"Oh, well," laughed the maiden, plainly gratified by her cousin's
remark, "'tis as well to be in the mode when one can. And I wish to do
you honor, my cousin."
"Oh, John," cried Peggy as she entered the parlor, where young Drayton
stood twirling his cocked beaver airily. "That I should live to see thee
wearing the white cockade of the Parley-voos on thy hat. What hath
happened?"
"The most wonderful thing in the world, Mistress Peggy," answered
Drayton reddening slightly at her raillery. "General Washington hath
said that if my behavior warranted it he would put me with the Marquis
de La Fayette's brigade upon his return from France. As 'tis to be a
picked corps of men 'tis most gratifying to one's vanity to be so
chosen. And in compliment to my prospective commander I am wearing the
white cockade with our own black."
"I am so glad," exclaimed Peggy. "Thee is making us proud of thee.
Father said that there was no soldier more faithful to duty than thou.
This is my cousin from England, John. Mistress Harriet Owen, Ensign
Drayton."
"Your servant, madam," said Ensign Drayton with a sweeping bow, which
Harriet returned with a deep curtsey.
"Ah, Drayton," said David Owen, entering at this juncture. "The lassies
are wild to see the camp. Canst thou ride, ensign?"
"That is how I made Miss Peggy's acquaintance, sir," said young Drayton
frankly.
"Ah, yes; I had forgot, my boy. I was thinking that perhaps thou couldst
join us in our rides, and when it would not be possible for me to be
with the girls thou couldst escort them."
"I should be pleased, sir," answered Ensign Drayton. "The country
hereabouts is well adapted to riding as 'tis much diversified. The
roads, though narrow, are through woods and dales, and are most
beautiful. I have been over the most of them, and know them well."
"Then thou art the very one to go with us," said Mr. Owen. "Now, my lad,
answer any questions those camp wild maidens may ask and I will improve
my well-earned repose by perusing the 'Pennsylvania Packet.' A new one
hath just reached me."
"Wilt pardon me if I say something, Mistress Peggy?" inquired young
Drayton an hour later as Harriet left the room for a moment.
"Why yes, John," answered Peggy. "What is it?"
"It is to be careful of your cousin," said the boy earnestly. "I like
not the fact that she is English and here in camp. She means harm, I
fear."
"Why, John Drayton," exclaimed the girl indignantly. "Just because she
is English doth not make her intend any hurt toward us. I am ashamed of
thee, John, that thee should imagine any such thing of one so sweet and
good as my cousin, Harriet. And is she not beautiful?"
"She is indeed very beautiful," he answered. "Pardon me, mistress, if I
have wounded you, but still do I say, be careful. If she intends no hurt
to any, either the camp or you, there still can be no harm in being
careful."
"John, almost could I be vexed with thee," cried Peggy.
"Don't be that, Miss Peggy. I may be wrong. Of course I am all wrong if
you say otherwise," he said pleadingly. "I spoke only out of kindness
for you."
"There, there, John! we will say no more about it; but thee must not
hint such things," said Peggy. And Drayton took his departure.
"Mother," cried Peggy several days after this incident when she had
returned from the ride which had become a daily institution, "mother,
John is becoming rude. I don't believe that I like him any more."
"Why, what hath occurred, Peggy?" asked Mrs. Owen, glancing at her
daughter's flushed face anxiously. "Thy father and I are both much
pleased with the lad. What hath he done?"
"'Tis about Harriet," answered Peggy, sinking into a chair by her
mothers side. "The first time he came he cautioned me to be careful
because of her being here. I forgave him on condition that he should
never mention anything of like nature again. And but now, while we were
riding, Harriet stopped to speak for a moment to a soldier, and he said:
'I don't like that, Mistress Peggy. Why should she speak to that man?
This must be looked into.' And, mother, he wished to question Harriet
then and there, but I would not let him. He is monstrously provoking!"
"Well, does thee know why she spoke to the soldier?" asked her mother
quietly.
"Mother!" Peggy sat bolt upright in the chair, and turned a reproachful
glance upon the lady. "Thee too? Why, Harriet told me but yesterday that
she was becoming more and more of the opinion that the colonists were
right in rebelling against the king. And is she not beautiful, mother?"
"Thou art quite carried away with her, Peggy," observed Mrs. Owen
thoughtfully. "Thou and thy father likewise. As thee says, Harriet's
manner to us is quite different to that which her father used. But
William, whatever his faults, was an open enemy for the most part, and I
like open enemies best. I cannot believe that an English girl would so
soon change her convictions regarding us."
"Mother," cried Peggy in open-eyed amaze, "I never knew thee to be
suspicious of any one before. Thou hast been talking with John. What
hath come to thee?"
"I have said no word concerning the matter to John; nor will I, Peggy.
'Tis not so much suspicion as caution. But now I heard her ask thy
father if there were but the three bridges across the Raritan, and if
'twere not fordable. Why should she wish to know such things?"
"Did thee ask father about it, mother?"
"Yes."
"And what said he?"
"He feared that because of William's actions I might be prejudiced
against her. He thought it quite natural for her to take an interest in
military affairs, and said that she asked no more questions concerning
them than thou didst. Beside, he said, she was such a child that no
possible harm could come of it."
"Belike it is because of Cousin William that thee does not feel easy,
mother," said Peggy much relieved.
"It may be," admitted the lady. "Yet I would that she had not come. I
would not have thee less sweet and kind to her, my daughter, but I agree
with John that it can do no harm to be careful. Watch, my child, that
thou art not led into something that may work harm to thee."
"I will be careful," promised Peggy, adding with playfulness: "As
careful as though I did not have thee and father to watch over me, or
the army with General Washington right here. Let me see! Seven brigades,
are there not? To say nothing of the artillery and four regiments of
cavalry variously stationed, and I know not how many brigades along the
Hudson and the Sound. There! thou seest that I am as well versed in the
disposition of the army as Harriet is."
"Is thee trying to flout thy mother, Peggy?" asked Mrs. Owen laughing in
spite of herself. "I may in truth be over-anxious and fearful, but 'tis
strange that John feels so too. As thee says, it does seem as though
naught could happen with the whole army lying so near. Still I have the
feeling that harm threatens through the English girl."
But the days passed, and the time brought no change to Harriet's manner.
She remained affectionately deferent to Mr. Owen, full of respectful
courtesy toward Mrs. Owen, and had adopted a playful comradeship toward
Peggy that was charming. The good lady's reserve was quite melted at
length, and she became as devoted to the girl as her husband and
daughter.
With girlish enthusiasm the maidens regulated their own days by that of
the camp. They rose with the beating of the reveille, reported to Mrs.
Owen as officer of the day for assignments of duty, and, much to her
amusement, saluted her respectfully when given tasks of knitting or
sewing. When the retreat sounded at sunset they announced their
whereabouts by a loud, "Here," as the soldiers answered to roll call,
and, unless there was some merrymaking at one of the various
headquarters, went to bed at the beating of tattoo.
Lady Washington joined her husband in February, and there was an added
dignity to the kettledrums and merrymakings in consequence. Better
conditions prevailed throughout the camp than had obtained at Valley
Forge the preceding winter. The army was at last comfortably hutted. The
winter was mild, no snow falling after the tenth of January. Supplies
were coming in with some degree of plenitude, and the outlook favored
rejoicing and entertainment.
But life was not all given up to amusement. The women met together, and
mended the soldiers' clothes, made them shirts and socks whenever cloth
and yarn were to be had, visited the cabins, carrying delicacies from
their own tables for the sick, and did everything they could to
ameliorate the lot of the soldier.
After a few such visits to the huts Harriet made a protest.
"I like not common soldiers," she explained to Peggy. "I mind not the
sewing, though I do not understand why Americans deem it necessary to
always be so industrious. 'Tis as though they felt that they must earn
their pleasures before taking them."
"Are not ladies in England industrious too?" inquired Peggy.
"They look after their households, of course, my cousin. And they paint
flowers, or landscapes, and the tambour frame is seldom out of the hand
when one is not practicing on the spinet, but they do not concern
themselves with the welfare of the common soldiers as your women do."
"Oh, Harriet," laughed Peggy. "Thee has said that before, but thee does
not practice what thee preaches."
"What mean you?" demanded Harriet with a startled look.
"I have seen thee several times give something to a common soldier, as
thee calls him. Yesterday when we were leaving General Greene's I saw
thee slip something to one when he came forward to tighten Fleetwood's
girth. John saw it too."
"I had forgot," remarked the girl carelessly. "Yes; I did give him a bit
of money. Methinks he hath rendered us several services of like nature,
Peggy, when something hath gone amiss. Yet it may not have been the same
soldier. I scarce can tell one from another, there are so many."
"Thee has a good heart," commended Peggy warmly. "Mother says that 'tis
the only way to do a kindness. Perform the deed, and then forget it. But
I always remember."
"Does Cousin David ride with us to-day, or doth the ensign?" asked
Harriet.
"'Tis John, my cousin. Father is on duty."
"I am sorry," said Harriet. "I do not like Ensign Drayton. He reminds me
of a song they sing at home:
"'With little hat and hair dressed high,
And whip to ride a pony;
If you but take a right survey
Denotes a macaroni,'"
she trilled musically. "Now don't say anything, Peggy. I know he is
considered a lad of parts. I heard two officers say that he would no
doubt distinguish himself ere the war was over. 'Twas at Mrs. Knox's
kettledrum."
"Now I must tell mother that," cried Peggy, her momentary vexation at
Harriet's song vanishing. "He is our especial soldier."
"Is he? And why?" asked Harriet. "Nay," she added as Peggy hesitated.
"'Tis no matter. I knew not that it was a secret. I care not. I like him
not, anyway. Peggy, do you like me very much?"
"I do indeed, Harriet," answered Peggy earnestly. "Why?"
"I am just heart-sick to hear from my father," said Harriet, the tears
welling up into her beautiful eyes. "It hath been so long since I heard.
Not at all since I came, so long ago."
"'Tis hard to get letters through the lines," said Peggy soberly.
"I know it is, for I have tried," answered Harriet. "The officers won't
send them. If you were away from Cousin David wouldn't you make every
effort to hear from him?"
"Indeed I would," responded Peggy. "Harriet, has thee asked father to
help thee? He would take the matter to General Washington."
"General Washington does not wish to do it because I am British,"
answered Harriet after a moment. "I know that they must be careful, but
oh! I am so anxious anent my father, Cousin Peggy."
"That is just as mother and I were about father last winter," observed
Peggy. "At last Robert Dale wrote us that he was a prisoner in
Philadelphia, and I rode into the city to see him."
"Was that when father was exchanged for him?" questioned the girl
eagerly.
"Y-yes," hesitated Peggy. She did not like to tell Harriet what effort
had to be made to get the exchange.
"Peggy, he helped you anent Cousin David then; will you help me about my
father?"
"How could I, Harriet?" asked Peggy.
"If you will just hand this note to that soldier that you saw me give
the money to yesterday he will get it through the lines. Nay," as Peggy
opened her lips to speak. "You shall read it first. I would do nothing
unless you should see that 'twas all right. Read, my cousin."
She thrust a note into Peggy's hand as she spoke.
"Miss Harriet Owen presents compliments to Sir Henry Clinton, and would
esteem it a favor if he would tell her how Colonel William Owen is. A
word that he is well is all that is desired. I have the honor, sir, to
be,
"Your humble and obliged servant,
"Harriet Owen.
"Middlebrook, New Jersey,
Headquarters American Army."
"Why, there ought to be no objection to getting that through," exclaimed
Peggy. "Harriet, let me ask father----"
"I have asked him," said Harriet mournfully. "He would if he could,
Peggy. He wishes me not to speak of it again, and I promised I would try
to content myself without hearing from father. You must not speak of it
either; else Cousin David will be angry with me for not trying to be
content."
"Don't cry, Harriet," pleaded Peggy, as the girl commenced to sob, and
her own tears began to flow. "Something can be done, I know. Thee ought
to hear from Cousin William."
"Cousin David said I must be content," sobbed Harriet. "And he hath been
so good to me that I must; though 'tis very hard not to hear. I see that
you do not wish to do it, Peggy. I meant no wrong to any, but----"
"How does thee know that the soldier could get the note through the
lines, Harriet?" asked Peggy thoughtfully.
"He said that he was to have leave to go to Elizabethtown for a few
days, and while there he could do it," said Harriet, looking up through
her tears.
"Why does thee not give it to him, then?" inquired Peggy.
"It must be given to him to-day," answered the other, "because he goes
to-morrow. If Cousin David were to ride with us I would, but Ensign
Drayton always watches me as though I were in communication with the
enemy, and about to bring the whole British force right down upon us.
You know he does, Peggy."
Peggy flushed guiltily.
"Yes," she admitted, "he doth, Harriet. I knew not that thee was aware
of it, though."
"Give me the note," said Harriet, rising suddenly. "As my father helped
you to your father I thought you would aid me, but I see----"
"Nay," said Peggy, her gentle heart not proof against the insinuation of
ingratitude. "Give me the note, Harriet. I will give it to the man. I
see not how it can bring harm to any, and thee ought to hear from thy
father."
"How good you are, Peggy," cried Harriet, kissing her. "Here is the
note. If I can only hear this once I will be content until such time as
Cousin David deems best. You are very sweet, my cousin."
And under the influence of this effusiveness Peggy saw not that the note
her cousin handed to her was not the one which she had read.