"A man's country is not a certain area of land, of
mountains, rivers and woods--but it is a principle, and
patriotism is loyalty to that principle."
--George William Curtis.
There came hoarse shouts from the pursuing troopers as Drayton
disappeared from view, and they galloped toward the girl at increased
speed. There was something so fierce, so martial in their aspect that it
struck terror to the maiden's heart, and she found herself all at once
shaking and quaking with fear.
Dear as freedom is to every pulse, standing up for the first time before
an advancing foe one is apt to find one's courage oozing out at the
fingers' ends. And so with Peggy.
The smile died from her lips, and a sort of panic took possession of her
as the sunshine caught the sheen of their scabbards and lighted into
glowing color the scarlet of their uniforms. Nearer they came. The girl
trembled like a leaf.
"I am a soldier's daughter," she told herself in an effort to regain
self-control. "I will die like one."
Almost unconsciously her little hand clutched the pistol that Drayton
had thrust into it, and, as the enemy were nearly upon her, in an agony
of fear Peggy raised the weapon and fired. The foremost dragoon reeled
slightly, recovered his balance immediately, and drew rein with his
right arm hanging limply by his side. The others also checked their
horses as a scream of horror burst from Peggy's lips.
"God forgive me," she cried. "Blood-guiltiness is upon me! I knew not
what I did."
And with this cry she threw the pistol from her, and dashed at once to
the dragoon's side.
"Thee is hurt," she exclaimed looking up at him wildly. "Forgive me,
friend. I meant not to harm thee. Oh, I meant it not!"
"Then why did you fire?" he demanded, regarding her with astonishment.
Peggy wrung her hands in anguish.
"I was afraid. Thee and thy troopers looked so terrible that I was in
panic. I knew not what I did, friend. And thy arm! See how it bleeds!
Sir, let me bandage it, I pray thee. I have some skill in such matters."
Her distress was so evident, her contrition so sincere that the scowl on
his face relaxed. Without further word he removed his coat, and let her
examine the injured member while the dragoons gathered about them,
eyeing the girl curiously. Her face grew deadly pale at sight of the
blood that gushed forth from a wound near the elbow, but controlling her
emotion she deftly applied a ligature, using her own kerchief for it.
"You're a fine rebel," was his comment as she completed the self-imposed
task. "Shoot a man so that you can patch him up! 'Tis small wonder that
you have skill in such matters. Gordon, bring me that pistol. 'Tis the
first time that Banastre Tarleton hath been wounded in this war, and I
am minded to keep the weapon that did it."
"Is thee Colonel Tarleton?" asked she, her heart sinking.
"Yes," he made answer, a peculiar light coming into his eyes at her
involuntary shrinking. "And now, my fair rebel with the Quaker speech,
will you tell me why one of your sect fires upon an officer of His
Majesty? But perchance you are not a Quakeress?"
"Methought I was in all but politics," she replied. "I have been trained
all my life to believe that courage is displayed, and honor attained by
doing and suffering; but I have sadly departed from the ways of peace,"
she added humbly. "I knew not before that my nature had been so
corrupted by the war that my fortitude had become ferocity. Yet it must
be so since I have resorted to violence and the shedding of blood. And
how shall I tell my mother!"
"Have you despatches?" he asked sternly. "Where were you going when we
captured you? I suppose that you realize that you are my prisoner?"
"Yes; I know, sir. I bear no despatches," she told him meeting his eyes
so frankly that he could not but believe her. "I was trying to get to my
home in Philadelphia. I started three days since, but lost my way. Every
one I asked for guidance gave it, correctly, I doubt not, but what with
the crossroads and swamps, and being unfamiliar with the country I have
gone far astray. Now I suppose that I shall never see my mother again!"
"Well, you know that you deserve some punishment for that hurt. And now
what about that fellow that was with you? Why did the dastard leave you?
Zounds! how can a maiden prefer any of these uncouth rascals when they
exhibit such craven spirit!"
"He was doing his duty, sir," answered Peggy, and her eyes flashed with
such fire that he laughed, well pleased that he could rouse her.
"His duty, eh? And did duty call him so strongly that he could leave a
girl alone to face what might be certain death? We English would call it
another name."
"Then you English would know nothing of true courage," she retorted. "He
is a patriot, and his duty must come before everything else. Thee will
find, if thee has not already found, Colonel Tarleton, that these
uncouth rascals, as thee terms them, are not so wanting in spirit as thy
words imply."
"No; 'fore George, they are not," he exclaimed. "And now unravel your
story to me. Your whole history, while we go on to Camden. 'Tis a goodly
distance, and 'twill serve to make me forget this hurt."
"Doth it pain thee so much?" she asked tremulously, the soft light of
pity and sorrow springing again to her eyes.
"Oh, yes," he answered grimly. "But now your story, mistress. And leave
out no part of it. I wish to know of all your treasonable doings so as
to make your punishment commensurable with your merits."
And Peggy, suppressing that part of her narrative that related to the
army, told him how she had been taken to New York, of the shipwreck, and
about her efforts to reach her home.
"And so Colonel Owen of the Welsh Fusileers is your cousin," he mused.
"Methought that I had seen you somewhere, and now I know that it must
have been at his house. Would you like to stay with your cousin and his
daughter until I decide upon your punishment?"
"Thee did not understand, I fear me," she exclaimed with a startled
glance. "I could not stay with them because they were lost at sea. Does
thee not remember that I said they were on the 'Falcon'?"
"True; but you could not see for the fog what happened after you left in
the small boat. They were rescued by another schooner, the 'Rose,' which
I was on myself. We escaped serious injury in the storm, and came across
the 'Falcon' just in time to rescue the crew and skipper, and those
officers and others who happened to be aboard."
For a short time Peggy was so overcome that she could not speak, but at
last she murmured faintly:
"Oh, I am glad, glad!"
"What sort of girl are you," he asked abruptly, "that you rejoice over
their rescue? They were unkind to you, by your own telling. Why should
you feel joy that they are living?"
"They are my kinspeople," she said. "And sometimes they were kind. Had
it not been for Harriet I would not have been in the little boat. She
made me enter it when to remain on the 'Falcon' seemed certain death.
She knew not that they would be rescued."
"Perhaps not," he remarked dryly. "Although I have never known Mistress
Harriet Owen to do one act that had not an underlying motive. But I
should not speak so to one who sees no wrong in others."
"Don't," she uttered the tears springing to her eyes at the sneer. "I do
see wrong; and thee doesn't know how hard I am trying not to feel bitter
toward them. I dare not think that 'tis to them I owe not seeing my
mother for so long. I--I am not very good," she faltered, "and thee knows
by that wound how I am failing in living up to my teaching."
"I see," he said; and was silent.
Camden, a strong post held by the British in the central northern part
of South Carolina, was reached at length. It was at this place that
General Gates met his overwhelming defeat in the August before, and as
Peggy viewed its defenses she could not but wonder that he had ventured
to attack it. Colonel Tarleton proceeded at once to a large two-story
dwelling, the wide verandah of which opened directly upon the main
street.
"I will leave you," he began, but Peggy uttered a cry of surprise as a
girl's figure came slowly through the open door of the house.
"Harriet! Harriet!" she cried. "Oh, thee didn't tell me that Harriet was
here!"
She sprang lightly from the pony's back, and ran joyfully up the steps,
with arms outstretched.
"I thought thee dead," she cried with a little sob. "I knew not until
now that thou wert alive. Oh, Harriet, Harriet! I am so glad thee lives.
And where is Cousin William? And oh!----" she broke off in dismay. "What
hath happened to thee? What is the matter, Harriet?"
For Harriet's wonderful eyes no longer flashed with brilliancy but met
her own with a dreary, lustreless gaze. Her marvelous complexion had
lost its transparency, and was dull and sallow. She leaned weakly upon
Peggy's shoulder, and as the latter, shocked at the change in the once
spirited Harriet, asked again, "Oh, what is the matter? What hath
happened?" she burst into tears without replying.
"'Tis the Southern fever," spoke Colonel Owen, coming to the door at
this moment. "So you escaped a briny grave, my little cousin? How came
you here? Was it to seek us that you came? You at least seem to have
suffered no inconvenience from this climate. It hath carried off many of
our soldiers, and Harriet hath pulled through by a miracle. It will take
time, however, to restore her fully to strength. Did you say you came to
seek us?"
"Nay," interposed Colonel Tarleton. "The girl is my prisoner, Colonel
Owen. I will leave her with you for the present, but will hold you
answerable for her safety. You are to send her to me each day so that
she may give attention to this wound which I owe to her marksmanship. So
soon as it shall heal I will decide upon her punishment."
"Well, upon my word, my cousin," exclaimed William Owen as Colonel
Tarleton, scowling fiercely, went away. "You are improving. I knew not
that Quakers believed in bloodshed. Tell us about it."
And Peggy, drawing Harriet close to her in her strong young arms, told
of her rescue and how she came to be once more with them.