OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN INTO THE FIRE
"Long war without and frequent broil within
Had made a path for blood and giant sin,
That waited but a signal to begin
New havoc, such as civil discord blends,
Which knows no neuter, owns but foes or friends."
--_"Count Lara," Byron._
The two mothers were at the door to greet them as David Owen brought
the girls back. Both girls were much excited, half laughing, half
crying, over the turn events had taken.
"'Tis good news, I can see," said Mrs. Owen leading them into the
sitting-room. "As to how it came about I can gather nothing clearly."
"Oh, 'twas Sally, Sally," cried Peggy. "'Tis said that Mr. Henry of
Virginia is eloquent, but ye should have heard Sally. He could not
excel her."
"'Twas a complete rout," declared Mr. Owen, his usual composure
somewhat ruffled. "Here I was down-stairs beset with anxiety lest
untoward sentences be passed upon the girls when down from the
Council chamber they came, escorted by Mr. Jacob Deering and President
Moore himself. Sally addressed the honorable body with so much
unction, I hear, that thy uncle, Robert, at once declared for them. In
fact, his championship took the form of a direct challenge, which
caused so much merriment that the Council was unable to proceed with
the business before it, and an adjournment was taken until this
afternoon."
"But what happened? What did you say? Do tell us, Sally," urged Robert
Dale. "I acknowledge that I am consumed with curiosity. I am sure the
others are affected in like manner. We were just sitting here while
you were gone trying to cheer each other by hoping that the sentence
would be fines rather than imprisonment. And here you come back with
neither, it seems, and colors flying. Do tell us what happened."
"Well," laughed Sally, who was plainly elated over the matter, "I was
greatly frightened until we entered the Council chamber; but do ye
know," she broke off excitedly, "just as soon as I saw those men I
knew that there was not one of them who would have refused Clifford
shelter that stormy day? So I told them so. That's all."
A shout of laughter greeted this explanation. When it subsided Peggy
spoke.
"Thee didn't tell them about Brutus, Sally," she chided. "'Twas that
that first excited thy ire." With that she related in detail all that
had taken place.
"Hurrah for Sally! And hurrah for Uncle Jacob too," cried Robert.
"'Twas wonderful, as Peggy says. How did you happen to think of it,
Sally?"
"'Twas high time that I did something to redeem myself," answered
Sally. "After all," she continued a trifle wearily, for in spite of
the petting and being made much of even her buoyant nature was
beginning to feel the strain of events, "after all, I should not have
been obliged to do it. Peggy and I are in our own city. It hath been a
long war, and from the first we have shown our patriotism by doing
what we could. Whenever anything of this sort occurs it should not be
necessary to do aught but explain how the matter came about without
fear of punishment."
"War breeds suspicion, my child," explained Mr. Owen gravely. "The
purest patriots are open to it; for sometimes treason lurks where 'tis
least suspected. Were it not that a close watch is kept we should have
been betrayed to our undoing long since by traitors and spies. For
greater security, therefore, Whigs submit to an espionage that at
times is most irksome and unpleasant."
"I see," said Sally. "I see. I---- Oh, I'm so tired!"
And with that--here was Sally on the floor in a dead faint. With an
exclamation of alarm Peggy bent over her.
"All this hath been too much for her," she cried. "And 'tis my fault.
Oh! I should not have let her help with Clifford."
"Nay, Peggy; she hath not been strong for some time," returned Mrs.
Evans, as Mrs. Owen and Nurse Johnson brought burnt feathers and
vinegar. "She overtaxed her strength at the hospital which is the
reason that she hath remained at home this spring. She must have a
change when a little stronger."
So, on her return to consciousness, Sally found herself put to bed
and declared an invalid. Peggy insisted on being installed as chief
nurse.
"But I shall go down-stairs to-day, Peggy," spoke Sally on the morning
of Wednesday. "I heard Nurse Johnson say last night that thy father
was to start for Lancaster this afternoon."
"He is, Sally. And what does thee think? Robert is to go with him."
"Robert?" exclaimed Sally amazed. "Why, Peggy, his furlough hath but
just begun."
"I know. Father reminded him of it, but he thought the prospect
alluring, because father spoke of the danger of robbers. It seems that
the woods of the great road to Lancaster is infested with them, and
that government stores are their especial prey. The journey will be
fraught with no little peril."
"How quickly he tired of us," mused Sally. "Here 'twas only Fifth-day
of last week that he came, and now he is to take to the field again.
Fie, fie! Is that the gallantry of the military?"
"Perchance," answered Peggy laughing at her friend, "perchance, Sally,
he hath been without leave for so long that he doth not know what to
do with himself when off duty."
"I dare say, Peggy. Oh, dear! would I were going somewhere. I would
not care how much danger there was if I could get away for a time."
Sally sighed deeply. "I have been here all my life, Peggy, save for
the summers we've spent at the farm. I wish I could have a change."
Nurse Johnson entered the room as the girl concluded her remarks.
"It is anent that very thing that I have come to speak to you both,"
she said seating herself on the side of the bed. "Why could not you
and Peggy go to Jersey with me for a while? You need a change, Miss
Sally, and my sister is near enough to the coast for you to have the
benefit of the sea air. She hath a large house, and likes young
company. We will give you a fine time, and 'twould do you no end of
good. Will ye go?"
"Oh, I should like it," cried Sally eagerly. "If Peggy will go I am
sure that mother would be pleased to have me accept, Friend Nurse.
Will thee, Peggy?"
"I'll have to see mother about it, Sally," answered Peggy slowly. She
did not like the thought of leaving home again even for a few days,
but Sally did need a change. She had extricated her from a grave
difficulty, and so, stifling a sigh, she added: "I will go if mother
will consent to it."
"I'm going to get up," spoke Sally decidedly. "When did thee wish to
start, Friend Nurse?"
"I should like to go to-morrow," answered Nurse Johnson. "Fairfax hath
made arrangements for a large sled to use in place of the double wagon
in which we came. That will make traveling easy, and we should start
while the snow is on the ground. Should there come a warm spell the
roads would be terrible."
"Let's go right down-stairs to see about it," cried Sally. "If we go
to-morrow there will be need for haste. See, Friend Nurse, the mere
thought of going with thee hath given me strength. How much better I
do feel already."
"I'll see that you have some color in these pale cheeks before I'm
through with you," declared Nurse Johnson pinching them lightly.
"With Peggy and me to look after you a few days will make a great
difference in you. Yes; let's see about it right away."
After all the matter was not mentioned immediately. David Owen had
received some further orders which hastened his departure, and in the
confusion of preparation the subject was not broached. It was at the
tea table that Nurse Johnson unfolded the plan.
"And the raids, Friend Johnson?" spoke Mistress Owen. "Doth thy sister
live where she would be subjected to them?"
"When Brother Tom wrote he said that there had been no trouble since
Yorktown," answered Nurse Johnson. "Did I think for one moment that
there was danger I should not wish to take them into it. But Freehold
is some distance from the coast, though the sea breezes have an
appreciable effect upon the climate, and 'twill be of benefit to both
girls to get away for a little while. Miss Sally certainly needs the
change. I would take good care of them."
"I do not doubt it, friend," answered Peggy's mother. She saw that
Sally was eager for the trip, and knew that the girl's mother would
consent to it only on condition that Peggy would go also. Both Mrs.
Owen and her daughter felt that it would be ungracious to refuse, and
consent was given.
So it came about that the next morning, so well wrapped up that they
declared themselves unable to breathe, Peggy and Sally were helped
into the big double sleigh that Fairfax had secured, and the journey
toward New Jersey was begun.
There is something exhilarating about the beginning of any journey.
Add to it youth, brilliant sunshine, the keen air of a frosty morning,
and the high spirits of the maidens will be understood. Sally was
almost wild with delight.
"Oh, Friend Fairfax," she cried leaning forward to speak to him as the
party sped away, the snow creaking under the runners, "isn't this just
the nicest ride thee ever took? Isn't thee having just the best time?"
"Yes," answered the youth so briefly that her face clouded. Fairfax
was once more enveloped in his garb of bashfulness, and attended
strictly to the driving, letting the task of entertaining their guests
fall upon his mother.
"I do believe that he is feeling bad because Betty hath not come,"
pouted Sally in a mischievous aside. "Doesn't thee, Peggy?"
To Peggy's amusement the youth turned quickly:
"I am, Mistress Sally. I--I'd like all three here."
And thus, with laughter and light conversation, the day passed. The
beautiful country places which had bordered the road near Philadelphia
gave way to pleasant villages, and these in turn were succeeded by
thick woods whose pure clean beauty elicited exclamations of delight.
In many places the road was unbroken, and the sleigh passed under
white laden branches which drooped heavily, and which at the slightest
jar would discharge their burden over the party in miniature
snow-storms. They had made such a late start that it was decided to
lie at Bristol for the night, and reached that place as the afternoon
sun began to cast long chill shadows through the darkening woods and
to shroud the way in fast deepening obscurity.
Across the Delaware the road took them through dense forests, and
over trackless vacancies of snow-clad spaces into which the highway
disappeared. There were a few scattering villages, and near these they
encountered travelers, but on the highroad they met no one. In spite
of themselves this fact wore upon them. The cold was not severe, but
there was a stillness that held a penetrating chillness of its own.
The country was undulating, swelling into an elevation called the
Atlantic Highlands near the coast, and into the range of mountains in
the north known as the Kittatinny Hills. All were well covered with
forests of pine.
By noon of the third day they emerged from the woods, and found a long
stretch of white-clad country before them. A few farms could be seen
in the far distance, but otherwise there was no sign of life on the
wide expanse. It seemed to Peggy and Sally that the highway lay over
vast snow fields, and the glare of the sunlight on the snow began to
blur and blind them.
"I should welcome the sight of bird or beast," observed Nurse Johnson.
"The stillness hath been oppressive to-day. 'Tis the hard part of
winter travel. In summer there is always the hum of insect, or the
song of bird to while away the monotony of a journey, but in the
winter there is naught to break the quiet. 'Tis as though all Nature
slept under the blanket of snow. Still, the riding hath not been hard.
A sleigh is so much easier than a wagon. You girls are tired, though,
I can see. What are you looking at, Sally?"
"There seems to be something moving over there," answered Sally
indicating some small elevations about three miles to the north of the
road. "Thee will get thy wish, Friend Nurse, for something is surely
moving about. We have seen naught for so long that any living thing is
curious. What are those specks, Friend Fairfax? They are too large for
ducks."
The youth turned and gazed steadily at the sand-hills to which she
pointed. They were covered with snow which made them appear like ice
hummocks in the sunshine, and which rendered the small black objects
moving among them very distinct.
"They look to me like men," remarked Peggy who sat on the front seat
beside Fairfax.
"They are men," he responded. "Men and horses."
"I wonder what they are doing there," cried Sally.
The youth did not reply, and Peggy caught the look that passed between
him and his mother. She bent toward him quickly.
"What is it?" she asked. "What does thee fear?"
"I fear they are desperadoes," he replied. "I must make yon
farmhouse."
With an exclamation the girl turned to look again at the sand-hills.
To her amazement the spots that had been so indeterminate a few
moments since now had become a body of horsemen, which was moving
rapidly toward them. Fairfax was pale. He leaned forward and spoke
to the horses just as Sally cried:
"They see us, Fairfax. They are coming on the run."
"Can you drive, Peggy?" he asked.
"Yes," she told him breathlessly.
"Then take my place," he said. "See the farmhouse to the right on that
crossroad? We must make that, Peggy. I must get out the guns. If they
catch us there will be a fight."
"I have the ammunition, son," said Nurse Johnson. "Get over here, and
let me do the loading."
Peggy took the lines, and the youth stooped down and drew the muskets
from under the front seat of the sleigh.
"Drive, Peggy," he called excitedly as he rose with the weapons.
"Drive as you never drove before. They are gaining on us."