"Southward with fleet of ice
Sailed the corsair Death;
Wild and fast blew the blast
And the east wind was his breath."
--Longfellow.
"There is but one explanation to the whole thing," growled Colonel Owen
the next morning. With the two girls for an audience he was voicing his
disappointment at the failure of the alert, and incidentally nursing a
frost-bitten foot. "And that is that the guide purposely led us astray."
"But why a guide at all, father?" questioned Harriet. "The highway is
easily followed."
"'Tis the snow," he explained irritably. "All roads are buried under
four or more feet of it. Landmarks are obliterated and the forest but a
trackless waste. 'Tis no wonder the fellow lost his way, though,
methinks. 'Twas as though he knew our errand, and kept us floundering
among the drifts purposely."
"Belike he did," observed Harriet. "What with Peggy feeding all the
rabble that comes along 'tis small wonder that your plots and plans
become known to the rebels. I bethought me the other day when she had
that teamster in the kitchen that he was a spy. Now I make no doubt of
it."
"What's all this?" demanded her father sharply. "What teamster are you
talking about, Harriet?"
"'Twas the man who brought the wood, Cousin William," explained Peggy,
trying to speak quietly. "Harriet objected at the time to his being fed,
but 'twould have been unkind not to give him cheer when 'twas so cold."
"But that is no reason why you should talk with him," sneered Harriet.
"I saw that parley you held when he was throwing off the wood."
"Did you talk to him, Peggy?" Colonel Owen regarded her keenly.
"Why, yes," she answered. "I went out to scold him because he was piling
the wood in such a way that it could not be measured."
"There was naught amiss about that," he remarked with a relieved
expression. "Nor about the food either, if that was all there was to
it."
"But was it all?" queried Harriet. "The servants said that Peggy was
over-solicitous anent the fellow."
"Peggy!" Colonel Owen faced the maiden abruptly. "Let us have this
matter settled at once. You usually speak truth. Do so in this instance,
I beg of you. Was the wood and feeding the man all there was to the
affair?"
Peggy did not reply.
"There is more then," he said. "Your silence speaks for you. I demand
now to know if this fellow was responsible for the failure of our plan
to captivate the rebel general?"
But Peggy was not going to betray Drayton's disguise if she could help
it, and neither would she speak an untruth. So she met her kinsman's
glance with one as direct as his own as she answered, "I am to blame for
thy plan going amiss, Cousin William."
"You?" he exclaimed incredulously. "Why, you knew naught of it. I was
careful that even Harriet should not know it."
"I was in the drawing-room," she told him boldly, "when thee and thy
commander were discussing the plan. I heard the whole plot. While the
dinner was being served I slipped out and sent word to the general."
"By whom?" he asked controlling his anger with difficulty. "By whom did
you send word?"
"That, sir, I will not tell," responded she resolutely.
"And do you know what this action hath cost me?" he thundered, livid
with rage. "A knighthood and fortune. Was not the account long enough
betwixt us that you must add this to it? To come here and play the spy
in mine own house. 'Tis monstrous!"
"I did not come here of my own accord," she reminded him becoming very
pale. "If I have played the spy 'tis no more than thy daughter did for
many months in our house. I will gladly relieve thee of my presence at
any time that thee will let me go."
"You shall not go--now or at any time," he stormed, his voice shaking in
its fury. "Moreover I shall put it out of your power to work any further
harm here. Sir Henry Clinton leaves for the South in a few days. I shall
go with him, and take you both with me."
"Oh, father!" wailed Harriet. "Not me?"
"You too," he answered. "You and this marplot of a girl, who hath
spoiled a most feasible plan of ending the rebellion." He glared at
Peggy for a moment with a look that made her tremble and then stalked
out of the room.
"Just see what you have done, Peggy Owen," cried Harriet, her eyes
ablaze with wrath. "Now we'll have to go I know not how far away, to
some old place where there is no fun. Just mind your own affairs after
this, will you?"
"No," replied Peggy stoutly, though her heart swelled at the thought of
going upon a journey that would take her further away from home. Like
most girls of the period she was hazy about the geography of the
country, and the South seemed an indefinite somewhere a long way off.
"No, Harriet, my affairs are those of the rebels, as thee calls them. If
at any time I hear aught planned either against them or the general, and
'tis in my power to warn them, I tell thee frankly that I shall do so."
"I shall go right to father with that," cried Harriet, and in turn she
flounced out of the room.
In spite of her brave words, however, Peggy's tears fell like rain as
she slipped down to the stable and flung her arms about Star's neck.
"Oh, Star, Star!" she sobbed. "I'll never see mother again, I fear me.
Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?"
Sir Henry Clinton was to set sail for Savannah, Georgia, which had
fallen into the hands of the British in December of the preceding year.
The province, after being overrun by the army in an incursion of savage
warfare, appeared to be restored to the crown, and now Charleston was to
be taken and South Carolina restored to its allegiance by the same
method. North Carolina and Virginia were to follow in turn, and the
campaign in the South concluded by a triumphal march back through
Delaware, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey, until Washington would be
between the two British armies. Then, with an attack from New York
simultaneous with one from the rear, the Continentals would be swept out
of existence. This, in brief, was the British plan of campaign for the
ensuing year, and the English commander-in-chief was setting forth for
its accomplishment.
Colonel Owen's determination to go with his chief seemed to grow firmer
the more Harriet pleaded with him to stay, and the day after Christmas
they set sail in the schooner "Falcon." Reinforced by Admiral Arbuthnot
with new supplies of men and stores from England the British were
jubilantly sure of success, and set forth with their transports under
convoy of five ships of the line.
"We shall have our horses with us, anyway," declared Harriet, who
brightened up wonderfully once they were under way, and addressing Peggy
with the first gleam of good humor that she had shown since it had been
decided that they should accompany her father. "I saw to it that they
were sent aboard with the cavalry horses, on one of the transports. I
dare say there will be a chance for rides. At any rate 'twill not be so
cold as it hath been in New York."
"I suppose not," agreed Peggy sadly. She was calling all her resolution
to aid her to bear this new trial.
The early part of the voyage was extremely fortunate. The sea was
smooth, the sky clear, the air sharp but kindly. To Peggy's surprise she
was not at all sick, and her spirits rose in spite of her sorrow at her
separation from her mother. With the closing in of the night of the
fourth day out, however, they fell in with foul winds and heavy weather.
The wind began to whirl, and the sea to lift itself and dash spray over
the schooner until the decks were as glassy as a skating pond. The
temperature fell rapidly. All day Sunday the ships went on under this
sort of weather which was not at all unusual for the time of year, but
the next day the weather began to quiet, and the waves sank gradually to
a long swell through which the vessels went with ease.
The whole surface of the sea was like a great expanse of molten silver
which shimmered and sparkled under the rays of the wintry sun. The
prospect was now for a smooth voyage, and the sailormen scraped the ice
from rail and deck, and the passengers who had been confined to the
cabin now came on deck and raced about like children under the influence
of the pure air. The sky was very clear above, but all around the
horizon a low haze lay upon the water.
"Isn't this glorious, Peggy?" cried Harriet dancing about the deck like
a wind sprite. "After all, there is nothing like the sea."
"'Tis wonderful," answered Peggy with awe in her tone. The vast spread
of the waters, the immensity of the sky, the intense silence through
which the creaking of the boats as they swung at the davits, and the
straining of the shrouds as the ship rolled sounded loud and clear, all
appealed to her sense of the sublime.
"I hope 'twill be as fine as this all the way to Georgia," said Harriet.
"And that seems to be the prospect."
The captain of the vessel, a bluff Englishman, was passing at the moment
and caught the last remark. He paused beside the maidens.
"It won't be fine long," he declared gruffly. "With a ground swell and a
sinking temperature always look for squalls. Look there at the north!"
The haze on the horizon to the north was rather thicker than elsewhere,
and a few thin streaky clouds straggled across the clear, cold heavens.
It told nothing to the girls, but the skipper's face grew grave, and he
hurried forward to give some commands.
"Furl topsails!" he shouted to the mate, "and have the mainsails reefed
down!"
"Ay, ay, sir," came the response, and instantly the men began hauling at
the halliards, or sprang to the yards above to tuck away the great sails
making all snug for the coming storm.
Even Peggy, unused to the sea as she was, could see that a storm was
about to burst upon them. The north was now one great rolling black
cloud with an angry ragged fringe which bespoke the violence of the wind
that drove it. The whole great mass was sweeping onward with majestic
rapidity, darkening the ocean beneath it.
"Get below there," shouted the captain as he suddenly caught sight of
the two girls still standing on deck watching the approach of the storm
with fascinated eyes. "Get below, I say! D'ye want to be blowed away?
Here she comes!"
As he spoke the wind broke in all its fury. The schooner heeled over
until her lee rail touched the water, and lay so for a moment in a
smother of foam. Gradually she rose a little, staggered and trembled
like a living thing, and then plunged away through the storm.
It was a wild and dreary night that followed. Shut in the dark of the
cabin Peggy and Harriet clung to each other, or to lockers, to keep from
being dashed across the floor of the tossing vessel. All night long
there was no chance for sleep. Every moment it seemed as though the ship
must go down at the next onslaught of the waves.
"I like not to be mewed up like this," objected Harriet when there came
a chance for speech. "I like the feel of the wind and the hail and the
spray."
"Is thee not afraid, Harriet?" questioned Peggy.
"I am, down here," answered her cousin. "I can stand any danger best
that I can face. But they will not let us up. We might be swept away
even if we could stand. And listen to the shouts, Peggy. There must be
something amiss."
And so on all through the long night. The dawn broke at last and brought
with it a slight abatement of the tempest, but with the lessening gale
came a new form of assault. The air was colder. A heavy fog rolled up
and through it came a blinding snow-storm, fairly choking the deck of
the ship.
For three days the girls were confined to the cabin, with but biscuits
to nibble on. The fourth the wind fell at last, leaving the vessel
rudderless and dismasted, and heaving on vast billows.
"There is but one hope for us," said Colonel Owen as he explained the
damage to the girls, "and that is to be picked up by another vessel."
"Is it so bad as that, father?" questioned his daughter.
"Yes," he answered gloomily.
But over the inky shroud of the ocean white capped and furious there
shone no sign of a sail. The snow had ceased falling, but it was
bitterly cold. The fifth and sixth days they tossed helplessly, but on
the seventh day Peggy turned to her cousin with a startled query.
"Harriet," she cried, "does thee hear that throbbing sound? What is it?"
Harriet Owen paled as she listened. "That, Peggy," she said after a
moment, "is the noise of the pumps. The ship hath sprung a leak."
At this moment Colonel Owen came from the deck. He was visibly pale, and
much troubled in manner. "Wrap yourselves as warmly as possible," he
advised them. "'Tis but a question of time now ere we must take to the
boats, and there is no telling to what ye may be subjected before
reaching land, if in truth we ever tread foot on solid ground again.
Hasten!"
His warning was well timed; for, as he ceased speaking, there came
hoarse shouts from above, a rush of hurrying feet, and the chugging of
the pumps stopped. He ran up the hatchway, and was back almost
instantly. "The boats are being lowered," he informed them. "Throw what
you can about you and come. If we dally we may be left behind. Men
become beasts in a time like this."
The girls obeyed him with the utmost haste. They were both colorless,
but composed. On deck a wild scene was being enacted. The ship no longer
rose to the waves, and even to an inexperienced eye was settling. That
it was time to lower the boats was plain to be seen. The captain was
trying to preserve something like order among the crew, but the hour for
discipline had gone by.
"Women first," he was crying in trumpet tones. "Men, remember your wives
and daughters. Would ye have them left as ye are leaving these?"
But over the side of the vessel the men scrambled with fierce cries and
imprecations, paying no heed either to his commands or pleadings. They
swarmed into the boats, fighting for places like wild animals. The frail
barks went down to the water loaded until the gunwales were lapped by
the smallest waves. The skipper turned to Colonel Owen.
"The dingey is left, sir," he said. "If you will help me to defend it
from the rest of these brutes, we may be able to get these girls into
it."
"I will do my utmost," rejoined the colonel. "Harriet, do you and Peggy
stand behind me. When the boat is lowered be ready to get into it as
soon as the captain speaks."
Colonel Owen faced the few remaining men with drawn pistols as the boat
was let down. The first mate took his place, and stood ready to receive
the maidens.
"Go, Harriet," said her father. But to Peggy's amazement her cousin
turned to her, crying, "You first, Peggy! You first!"
"But," cried Peggy her heart flooded with sudden warmth at this
unlooked-for solicitude, "I cannot leave thee, Harriet. I----"
"Stop that nonsense!" exclaimed Colonel Owen gruffly. "We have no time
for it. Get into the boat at once."
Without further comment Peggy permitted herself to be handed down into
the boat, and as she reached it in safety she looked expectantly up for
Harriet to follow. At that moment came a hoarse cry from the skipper.
"Cast off, Mr. Davy! Cast off! You'll be swamped."
The mate pulled away just as half a dozen frantic seamen leaped from the
deck toward the boat. The swirl of the waters caught it, turning it
round and round by the force. With a great effort he succeeded in
sending it out of the eddy just in time to avoid being drawn under by
the drowning seamen. Again making a strenuous effort to get beyond their
reach he sent the dingey scudding to westward, was caught by a current,
and carried further away from the vessel.
"What is it?" asked Peggy as she caught a glimpse of his whitening face.
"God help them," broke from him. "We are caught in the current and can't
get back to the 'Falcon.'"
[Illustration: THE DINGEY WAS CAUGHT BY A CURRENT]