"I still had hoped ...
Around my fire an evening group to draw,
And tell of all I heard, of all I saw."
--Goldsmith.
A few days later the country was electrified by the news that the Whigs
west of the Alleghanies had marched to the relief of their oppressed
brethren of the Carolinas, and defeated the British at King's Mountain.
The victory fired the patriots with new zeal, checked the rising of the
loyalists in North Carolina, and was fatal to the intended expedition of
Cornwallis. He had hoped to step with ease from one Carolina to the
other, and then proceed to the conquest of Virginia; he was left with no
choice but to retreat.
The men about Charlotte had disputed his advance; they now harassed his
foraging parties, intercepted his despatches and cut off his
communications. Declaring that every bush hid a rebel, Lord Cornwallis
fell back across the Catawba into South Carolina.
At the plantation the news of the victory was received with joy, causing
Peggy to unfold the plan that had been maturing ever since she had
regained possession of Star.
"What doth hinder my going home now?" she asked the assembled family one
evening. "The British have gone, and I have but to keep to the road to
arrive in time at Philadelphia."
"But the Tories?" questioned Mistress Egan. "They are everywhere."
"I have waited so long for a way to open," continued Peggy, stoutly. "It
is wonderful how it hath all come about. First, the sea brought me to
thy door, Friend Mandy. Then we came up here where the road is the
selfsame one used by the delegates to go to the Congress. Then my own
pony is brought to this very house. Does thee not see that 'tis the way
opened at last?"
"I see that we must let you go," said the good woman sadly, "though I
shall never know a minute's peace until I hear of you being safe with
your mother."
"I will write as soon as I reach her," promised the girl. "And I shall
get through, never fear. Did thee not say to thy husband when the
cottage was burned that the people would help? Well, they will help me
too."
"You cannot go alone, my girl," interposed Henry Egan decidedly.
"'Twould never do in the world. Things air upset still, even though the
British air gone. If I hadn't joined the milish I'd take you home
myself. As things air there can't a man be spared from the state jest
now. North Carolina needs every man she can get."
"I know it, Friend Henry," answered Peggy. "And I would not wish any one
to leave his duty for me. The cause of liberty must come before
everything."
"That is true," he said. "Be content to bide a little longer, and mayhap
a way will be opened, as you say."
So, yielding to his judgment with the sweet deference that was her
greatest charm, Peggy bore her disappointment as best she could. It was
but a few days, however, until the matter was brought up again by the
fisherman.
"Peggy," he said, "I heard as how Joe Hart was going to take his wife
and baby to her folks in Virginny, so that he can join the Continentals
with Gates. If you're bound to go this might be your chance. Things
don't seem to be so bad over there as they air in this state, and it may
be easier for you to get some one to take you on to Philadelphia."
"When do they start?" asked Peggy joyfully.
"To-morrow morning. That won't give you much time, but----"
"'Tis all I need," she answered excitedly. "Oh, Friend Henry, how good
thee is to find a chance for me."
"There, my girl! say no more. Of course you want them even as they must
want you. You'll write sometimes, and when this awful war is over, if
there air any of us left, mayhap you'll come down to see us again."
"I will," she promised in tears.
"Another thing," he said, bringing forth a few gold pieces, "you must
take these with you. They will help you in your journey, but use 'em
only when you can't get what you want any other way. 'Tis better to
trust to kindness of heart than to cupidity."
In spite of her protests he made her accept them, and she sewed them in
the hem of her frock, promising to use them with discretion. With many
tears Peggy took leave of these kindly people the next morning, and set
forth with Joe Hart and his wife and baby for Virginia. The road was
mountainous, and the riding hard, but Peggy's heart danced with gladness
and she heeded not the fatigue, for at last she was going home. Home!
The opaline splendor of the morning thrilled her with an appreciation
that she had never felt before. What a wonderful light threaded the
woods and glorified the treetops! Home!
At night they stopped at some woodman's hut, or at a plantation, if they
were near the more pretentious establishment; for inns were few, and the
habitations so far removed from each other that the people gladly gave
entertainment to travelers in return for the news they brought.
Often they encountered bodies of irregular troops upon the road
directing their wearied march toward the headquarters of the patriot
army. The victory at King's Mountain had thrilled the people even as
Concord and Lexington had done, and roused them to renewed exertions.
Peggy's companions were not very cheerful. The man was a rough, kindly,
goodhearted fellow, but his wife was a delicate woman, peevish and
complaining, whose strength was scarcely equal to the hardships of the
journey and the care of the sickly infant who fretted incessantly.
Four days of such companionship wore upon even Peggy's joyousness. They
were by this time some fifteen miles east of Hillsborough, where the
remnant of the patriot army lay. The road was lonely, the quiet broken
only by the whimpering of the baby and the querulous soothing of the
mother. Peggy felt depressed and mentally reproached herself for it.
"Thee is foolish, Peggy," she chided sternly, "to heed such things. If
the poor woman can bear it thee should not let it wherrit thee. Now be
brave, Peggy Owen! just think how soon thee will see mother. Can thee
not bear a little discomfort for that? And how exciting 'twill be to
tell them----What was that?" she cried aloud, turning a startled look upon
the mountaineer, who rode a short distance ahead of Peggy and his wife.
"It sounded like a groan," exclaimed he.
They drew rein and listened. The road ran through a forest so densely
studded with undergrowth that it was impossible to see any distance on
either side. For a few seconds there was no sound but the whispering of
the pines. They were about to pass on when there came a low cry:
"You, whoever you are! Come to me, for the love of God!"
For a moment they looked at each other with startled faces, and then the
mountaineer made a motion to swing himself from his horse.
"Joe," cried his wife, "what air you going to do? Don't go! How'd you
know but what it's an ambush?"
"Nay; some one is hurt," protested Peggy.
While Hart still hesitated, Peggy dismounted, and leading Star by the
bridle walked in the direction from which the cry came.
"Where is thee, friend?" she called, her voice sounding clearly through
the stillness of the forest.
"Here! Here!" came the feeble reply.
Dropping the pony's bridle Peggy pushed aside the undergrowth, and
advanced fearlessly, pausing ever and anon to call for guidance. Shamed
by this display of courage Joe Hart followed her, despite the protests
of his wife. Presently just ahead of them appeared a man's form lying
outstretched under a clump of bushes, and wearing the uniform of the
Continentals. One arm, the right one, was broken, and lay disabled upon
the grass, while the hand of the other lifted itself occasionally to
stroke the legs of a powerful horse which stood guard over the prostrate
form of his master.
The animal snapped at them viciously as they approached, but the soldier
spoke to him sharply, so that they could draw near in safety. The girl
bent over the wounded man pityingly, for a gaping hole in his side
through which the blood was flowing told that he had not long to live.
"What can I do for thee, friend?" she asked gently, sinking down beside
him and raising his head to her lap.
"Are you Whig or Tory?" he gasped, gazing up at her eagerly.
"A patriot, friend," she answered wiping the moisture from his brow with
tender hands.
"Thank God," he cried making a great effort to talk for the end was fast
approaching. "I bear letters to General Gates from the Congress. In my
shoe; will you see that they are taken to him?"
"Yes," she replied.
"Promise me," he insisted. "You look true. Promise that you yourself
will take them to him."
"I promise," she said solemnly. "And now, friend, thyself. Hast thou no
messages for thy dear ones?"
"Mary," he whispered a spasm of pain contracting his face. "My wife!
Tell her that I died doing my duty. She must not grieve. 'Tis for the
country. Water!" he gasped.
But Joe Hart, foreseeing the need for this, had already gone in search
of it, and opportunely returned at this moment with his drinking-horn
full. The vidette drank eagerly, and revived a little.
"Thy name?" asked Peggy softly, for she saw that his time was short.
"William Trumbull, of Fairfield, Connecticut," he responded. The words
came slowly with great effort. "'Twas Tories," he said, "that shot me,
but Duke outran them. Then I fell and crawled in here. My horse----" A
smile of pride and affection lighted up his face as he turned toward the
animal. "We've taken our last ride, old fellow!"
"Would thee like for me to speak to the general about thy horse?" asked
Peggy.
"If you would," he cried eagerly. And then after a moment--"Take off my
boots."
The mountaineer complied with the request, and the dying patriot gave
the papers which Hart took from them to Peggy.
"Guard these with your life," he continued. "And get to General Gates
without delay. They have news of Arnold's treason----"
"Of what, did thee say?" cried Peggy.
"Of the treason of Benedict Arnold," he said feebly. "He is a traitor."
"Not General Arnold!" exclaimed Peggy in anguish. "Not the Arnold that
was at Philadelphia! Oh, friend! thee can't mean that Arnold?"
"The very same," he responded. "And further, he is seeking to induce the
soldiers to desert their country's colors."
"Merciful heavens! it can't be true!" she cried. "Friend, friend, thee
must be wandering. It couldn't happen."
"But it hath," he gasped. "They told me to make speed. I--I must go!"
With a superhuman effort he struggled to his feet, stood for a brief
second, and fell back--dead.