BEFORE THE COUNCIL
"Then call them to our presence. Face to face,
And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear
The accuser and accused freely speak."
--_Richard II._
Monday, Second-day in Quaker parlance, dawned. The intense cold had
abated though the air remained crisp and keen. A venturesome robin
perched upon the bare bough of a cherry tree that grew near one of the
sitting-room windows, and gave vent to his short and frequent song.
Sally called Peggy's attention to him.
"Dost hear what he says?" she cried. "Cheer up! Cheer up! Cheer up!
'Tis a harbinger of spring, and flowers, and warmer weather. Who knows
but that he brings good luck to us too, Peggy?"
Peggy smiled sadly.
"I hope so," she made answer. "But oh! I do wish this interview with
the Council were over."
"And so do I," agreed Sally soberly. "'Twill soon be now, Peggy, for
here comes thy mother to call us to get ready."
"Yes," spoke Mrs. Owen overhearing the words. "David says that as soon
as ye have donned your wraps 'twill be time to go."
Peggy and Sally were Quaker maidens, well drilled in art of
self-repression, so they made no scene as they bade their mothers
farewell, and took leave of Nurse Johnson, her son and Robert Dale. In
spite of their training, however, their eyes were wet, and neither was
able to speak for a few moments after they left the house. Then Sally
broke the silence.
"Peggy," she said, "after this I shall always have the greatest
sympathy for the poor wretches who are executed. I feel just as though
I was about to be hanged."
"So do I, Sally. How great a change is wrought by war! A few short
years ago neither of us thought to be called before the highest
tribunal of the state. How happy we were before this awful war with
its weary years of fighting came! Then we had no thought of sorrow,
and friend was not against friend, misconstruing every act and deed of
kindness."
"I think I would not pursue that line of talk, lassies," commented
David Owen who walked in front of them. "See how brightly the sun
shines! How blue the sky is! Beyond that azure is One in the hollow of
whose hand ye are. Have courage."
"Yes, Mr. Owen," gasped Sally, stopping abruptly as they reached the
walk leading to the State House entrance. "Yes; but what hath happened
to the State House? 'Tis so big. I knew not that 'twas so large."
Peggy stopped too and looked up at the State House, which stood some
twenty-five or thirty feet back from the street. It was large, she
reflected, its size impressing for the first time in her life with
a sense of awe. She had always lived across from the building. Had
loved it, and had been proud of the fact that it was deemed the
most imposing edifice in the new world; now its aspect was one of
forbidding unfamiliarity. David Owen gave them no time to indulge in
fears, but hurried them at once along the walk and up the flight of
five steps which led to the entry. The door opening into the East
Chamber stood ajar. He glanced toward it quickly.
"The Congress is in session," he remarked. "There are matters of
import before it to-day, I hear. His Excellency meets with it."
Lingering not, though he cast a wishful look toward the room, he led
them to the second story of the building, pausing presently before the
door of a chamber on the west side.
"I can go no further with ye," he said sadly. "Ye will have to depend
upon yourselves now, but there is naught to fear. Be of good courage,
and answer all that is asked of ye with exact truth. And now
farewell!"
He turned from them abruptly, and went hastily down the stairs as
though he feared that he might give way to emotion. For a brief second
the maidens stood, and then the door was opened, and the doorkeeper
bade them enter. Summoning all her courage, Peggy grasped Sally's
hand, and went in.
At this time the government of Pennsylvania differed slightly from
that of the other states. The old Committee of Safety had merged into
what was called The Supreme Executive Council. There was an Assembly,
which, in session with the Council, elected a Governor who was called
the President of the state, the Vice-president being elected in the
same manner. The President was Captain-General, and Commander-in-chief
of all of Pennsylvania's forces, and upon the Council devolved the
administrations of all war matters. Its chief executive committees
constituted a Board of War and a Navy Board. The former had charge of
the land service; the latter of the water, both under the direction of
the Council. A very careful and exact account of affairs in the state
was kept by means of ward committees in the cities and districts, and
any infraction of measures adopted for the public safety was known
almost immediately to the Council. It was before this high tribunal
that the girls had to appear.
Peggy's heart sank as they entered the chamber, and she encountered
the grave glances of the men assembled there. There were not more than
a dozen in session, for the Council was a small body. Some of the
members she knew well, others only slightly. They were courteous,
kindly men with the best interests of their country at heart, but
stern and implacable toward the least infringement of patriotism. And
so the girl's heart beat tumultuously as she advanced timidly toward
the platform upon which the President, Mr. Moore, was seated.
He rose as the trembling maidens paused before him, and stood for a
moment looking at them in silence. It seemed to Peggy that his glance
searched every recess of her heart. She grew pale before his intense
gaze, and her eyes fell. Sally, on the contrary, seemed to have
recovered her customary composure. She suddenly stood erect, and
looked about her. Presently she saw Mr. Jacob Deering, and smiled a
greeting. The old gentleman was visibly uneasy under her glance, and
opening his snuff-box he took a huge pinch of snuff.
"Margaret Owen." Peggy started as the unaccustomed appellation fell
from the lips of the President. "It hath been brought to the attention
of this Council that you have given aid to a prisoner of war. That you
have harbored one of the enemy, and have tried to abet his escape.
What have you to answer to this charge?"
"'Tis true," faltered the girl in a low tone.
"When did it occur?"
"Last Sixth-day."
"Which was Friday, the first day of this month. Was your father at
home at the time?"
"Yes," answered Peggy quickly, "but he knew naught of it."
"And did you not know that it was a misdemeanor to succor one of the
enemy?"
"Yes, friend; I knew it."
"You knew that 'twas a misdemeanor, and yet unbeknown to your father
you still committed it?" he asked, as though amazed at such duplicity.
"Did you not know that such an act might bring suspicion upon him? Did
you not know that even though he had given good service to the cause,
even that would not avail him if he were suspected of abetting a
prisoner's escape? Whom can we trust since General Arnold failed us?"
Peggy was too full of emotion to be able to do more than nod
acquiescence.
"Then if you knew these things, why did you do this?" he demanded, his
brow darkening.
"He was my cousin, Clifford Owen," she told him brokenly. "I could not
refuse him shelter in such a storm."
"Clifford Owen? A son of that Colonel Owen who as a prisoner on parole
stayed at your house?"
"Yes," answered Peggy.
"A brother to that Mistress Harriet Owen who played the spy with our
army at Middlebrook, and who while at your house tried to communicate
with the enemy at New York and was banished for so doing?"
"Yes," answered the girl again.
"And to favor one of these cousins you would do that which might cause
doubt to be cast upon your father's patriotism, and bring this friend
here under displeasure of this tribunal? This friend who hath served
us so nobly as nurse."
"Thee must not do anything to Sally," cried Peggy, roused by this
speech. "I alone am to blame for everything. None knew that I hid my
cousin, and Sally helped only because she saw how greatly I was
distressed lest Clifford should be taken. She did not know him, and
only helped me out of friendship. Ye must do naught to her. There is
no one to blame but me."
"And do you justify yourself for involving a loyal friend in
difficulty by the mere fact that the prisoner was your cousin?" he
asked, and the cold incisiveness of his tone made the girl shiver.
"You have said that he was your cousin, Margaret Owen, as though that
were excuse for disloyalty. Ye have both attended Master Benezet's
school; while there did ye not read of one Junius Brutus, who
sentenced his own sons to death when he found them implicated in a
conspiracy against the country?"
"Yes, we read of it," interposed Sally so shrilly that the grave men
who composed the semicircle were startled into keen attention. "We
read of it, Friend Moore; but does thee think their mother would have
done it? I've often wondered where Mistress Junius Brutus was. Had he
been my husband," with an impressive shake of her curly head, "I'd
have led him a life of it after such an act. 'Twas unnatural and
cruel, I think. Of course Peggy hid her cousin. Is she not a female?
Think ye that females are made of such stern fiber that a relative,
even though he were an enemy, would ask aid and be refused? I don't
believe that there is one of ye but what would do the same thing under
like circumstances. Thee has spoken of what I have done for the Cause.
Why doesn't thee mention Peggy's services? Didn't she ride in the cold
and the storm to inform General Putnam of the spy, Molesworth's plot?
Hasn't she worked to keep the hands, and the feet, and the backs of
the army warm? I don't believe that another girl in the Union hath
knit so many mittens and socks, or made so many shirts as Peggy Owen
hath. I can't begin to tell all she hath done for the Cause; and yet
just because she hath regard for her kin, which being a woman she
cannot help, ye want to convict her of a misdemeanor. 'Tis monstrous!
How can she help softness of heart? Hath she not been taught every
First-day to do good to them that despitefully use her? When I first
went into nursing I hated the English intensely, and when the wounded
were brought in I'd attend to our own soldiers first, no matter how
badly the others were hurt. And then one day, Dr. Cochrane said to me:
'They're all mothers' sons, Miss Sally. Somewhere, some woman is
waiting and praying for each one of them. Our own boys might be in
like predicament with the enemy. Treat them as you would like our own
treated.' Since then," Sally continued half crying, "I've tended them
all alike--American or English, French or Hessian."
"Bless my soul!" ejaculated Jacob Deering, as the maiden's voice
broke. Like a flash she turned upon him.
"Thee has a niece, Kitty, hasn't thee, Friend Deering?" she cried.
"Why, so I have, Miss Sally. So I have."
"And she married an Englishman, didn't she?"
"Yes," he answered with a bewildered air. "Yes, she did."
"Now, Friend Deering," she cried, shaking her finger at him earnestly,
"just suppose that Kitty's Englishman had come to thy house for
shelter last Sixth-day, when it was so cold and stormy that thee would
feel bad if the house cat was left outside? Suppose he had come asking
for shelter? Would thee be any the less a friend to thy country if
thee should listen to the dictates of humanity and give him shelter?"
"Bless my soul!" ejaculated Mr. Deering, again helping himself
liberally to snuff. "Bless my soul!"
"Wouldn't thee give him shelter?" persisted she. "Wouldn't thee,
Friend Deering?"
"Zounds! Of course I would," he cried. "Englishman, or not. No matter
what he was, I would turn no man from my door on such a day."
"Of course thee wouldn't," she cried in a blaze of indignation. "Yet
thee and thy fellows here want to indict Peggy and me for the very
thing ye would do yourselves. Shame on ye!"
"Indict ye!" cried the old gentleman, getting to his feet with the
agility of a youth. "Indict ye!" he roared, shaking his fist at the
council belligerently. "If any man dares to indict so much as a hair
of your pretty heads he shall answer to Jacob Deering."