CHOSEN BY LOT
"Sound to arms! Call in the captains,--
I would speak with them!
Now, Hope! away,--and welcome gallant Death!"
--"_Cataline," Croly._
Enjoy Harriet's presence Peggy did. Never had the English maiden been
more charming. Her vivacity, her endless sallies of wit and humor, and
her unfailing store of anecdotes rendered her irresistible. Peggy had
always been her mother's assistant in the household but now, quite to
the amazement of both mother and daughter, Harriet insisted upon
helping.
"I have been a guest long enough," she laughingly protested in answer
to Mrs. Owen's remonstrance. "Father declares that you are an
excellent housewife, madam my cousin. He would be pleased indeed to
have me learn of you. Beside," she added with a most charming blush,
"I dare say that I shall have a house of my own to look after some
day; so 'tis quite time that I knew something of housewifery."
And marveling greatly at this change in the once indolent Harriet,
Mrs. Owen took the girl forthwith under her wing, and spent long
hours instructing her in the mysteries of housekeeping. But the time
was not all devoted to labor. There were lighter hours in which the
maidens took daily rides. There was also much dining about among the
officers, their families, and the neighboring gentry of the town and
neighborhood. As the weather became warmer picnics followed in the
near-by woods, so that there was no lack of diversion. In these
pastimes Clifford was an almost constant attendant. Mr. and Mrs. Owen
had pressed him to become an inmate of their home, which, being on
parole, he was at liberty to do, and he had accepted. The young people
made a lively household, and it seemed to Peggy that it was the
happiest time that she had enjoyed since the long, grim, weary years
of fighting had begun. So the days sped pleasantly and May passed, and
June with all its riotousness of roses was upon them.
One warm June morning the family gathered in the pleasant, low-ceiled
dining-room for breakfast. Harriet, attired in a wash dress well
covered by a vast apron, flushed and rosy, stood at the head of the
table.
"I have cooked every bit of the breakfast myself," she declared
proudly. "Cousin David, if you and Clifford don't do justice to it I
shall take it as a personal affront."
"No wonder the breakfast is an hour late," murmured Clifford to Peggy
as they sat down. "I do think she might have invited Major Dale, or
that Yankee captain, instead of making us her victims."
"Clifford!" pouted his sister. "You are really trying. Madam my cousin
hath said that I can bake and brew almost equal to Peggy, so you will
have no need of simples after eating. Now does not that strawberry
tart look tempting?"
"It does indeed, lass," observed Mr. Owen. "Peggy will have to look to
her laurels if you can get up such a meal as this. Come, come,
Clifford! the proof of the pudding lies in the eating. Fall to, lad!"
"My death will be upon your head, Harriet," observed her brother with
such a sigh of resignation that Peggy could not help but laugh. "I do
wish John Drayton were here."
So with jest and laughter the family lingered over the meal, as if
loath to make further exertion in the growing heat. In the midst of
the cheer the knocker sounded, and, as though in answer to Clifford's
wish, the door swung back quietly, and John Drayton entered. Peggy
sprang up at sight of him.
"Thee is just in time, John," she cried gaily. "Clifford was just
wishing for thee. I'll lay a plate for thee."
"Clifford?" Drayton's tones were filled with astonishment.
There had been a sort of tacit truce established between the young
fellows, but the feeling between them was such that for either to
express desire for the other's company was cause for wonderment.
"Strange, is't not?" queried Clifford dryly. The insolence which he
could not keep out of his voice whenever he addressed Drayton crept
into it now. "You see, sir, my sister hath cooked this meal, and I was
wishing for other victims than Cousin David and myself."
"Knowing to whom Miss Harriet is indebted for her knowledge of cookery
I have no fears regarding results," remarked Drayton, with a slight
bow in Mrs. Owen's direction. "Miss Harriet, that strawberry tart
looks enticing. I should be obliged for a liberal helping."
Clifford flushed angrily at Drayton's words, but he had the grace to
refrain from further remark. After all Captain Drayton ate but little.
He trifled with the food, and was distrait and plainly ill at ease.
Usually he enjoyed a tilt of words with Clifford, but after the first
crossing of lances he said but little.
The meal was over at length, and Drayton faced them as he rose from
the table.
"I have a most painful duty to perform," he said unsteadily. "I feel
like a thief in the night sitting here listening to your innocent
mirth, knowing what I must do."
"What is it, John?" asked Mr. Owen, as they all turned wonderingly
toward the captain startled by his seriousness. "We know," he
continued kindly, "that thou wouldst do naught that would be
disagreeable for any of us were it not in the line of duty. Speak out,
lad."
"I am come to take Clifford back to the barracks," spoke Drayton,
unconsciously using Clifford's given name.
"But why?" asked Clifford quickly. "I have passed my word not to try
to escape. And I am 'Clifford,' sir, only to my friends."
"I beg your pardon, Captain Williams," spoke Drayton courteously. "I
spoke without thinking." He passed his hand across his brow as though
in doubt how to proceed, then he began to speak rapidly: "All of you
know how poor Fairfax Johnson met his death at the hands of the
loyalists in New Jersey. Well, we have been able to obtain no
satisfaction from the enemy for the outrage which they acknowledge was
unjustifiable; so Congress hath determined to select an officer from
among the English prisoners who shall be executed in retaliation for
Johnson's death.
"Therefore, thirteen officers from among the prisoners of war have
been ordered to report at the Black Bear Tavern this morning in order
that a victim may be chosen for retaliation. Captain Williams is among
those so ordered to report."
A long moment of silence followed this announcement. Drayton's
distress was plainly visible. The stillness was broken by Harriet.
"And why, sir," she said sharply, "should my brother be among those
who are bidden to report?"
"On account of his rank, Miss Harriet," he returned. "Johnson was a
captain, so eight captains and five lieutenants make up the thirteen
officers. The victim should be as near the rank of Captain Johnson as
possible."
"It is according to the rules of war," spoke Clifford Owen clearly.
"The Americans but act according to their rights. We should do the
same. I am ready to accompany you at any time, Captain Drayton."
"You shall not, Clifford," shrieked Harriet, throwing her arms about
him. "John Drayton is but one. We can overpower him, and you can
escape."
"Break my parole!" he ejaculated, horrified. "My sister, you know not
what you say."
"And after all, he may not be the unfortunate one, Miss Harriet,"
spoke Drayton with an attempt at consolation. "There are thirteen
from among whom the choice is to be made."
David Owen roused himself.
"True, there are thirteen," he murmured. "Would it be permitted, John,
that I go with the lad?"
"Yes, Mr. Owen." John Drayton's eyes were full of compassion. "No
undue rigor is to be used in carrying out orders, though of course few
spectators will be allowed."
"And a place must be found for me," cried Harriet. "Do you think I can
stay here and not know whether my brother is to be killed, or not?"
"We can't do it, Miss Harriet." Drayton's voice was inflexible. "It
would upset all arrangements to have a woman present. It cannot be
done. Come, Captain Williams."
Clifford was the calmest among them as he bade them farewell. Harriet
was too agitated to do more than wring her hands continually.
"It will be he, I know it will," she cried as Mr. Owen and John
Drayton disappeared from view, Clifford walking between them.
"We must hope for the best, my child," said Mrs. Owen trying to
comfort her. But Harriet could only say over and over:
"I know that it will be Clifford." She was walking up and down the
floor as she uttered the words again and again. Suddenly she paused,
and held out her hand to Peggy: "Come!" she said. "I am going to that
tavern."
At a sign from her mother Peggy went to her. Harriet clasped Peggy's
hand tightly in her own, and all through the trying scene that
followed never once did she let it go. Without thought that they were
still in their morning dresses, and without stopping for hats the
girls hastened into the street.
A hush seemed to have fallen upon the town. There were groups of
people clustered about everywhere talking in subdued tones of the act
of reprisal that was about to follow. Retaliation had been the demand
of every patriot since the inhuman and lawless murder of Fairfax
Johnson. No American prisoner was safe so long as the act was
unrequited. At length Congress had taken measures whereby a victim
should expiate the outrage upon the Jersey captain. So the citizens
stood on the corners talking to each other almost in whispers of what
was going on at the tavern. Peggy and her cousin passed them
unheedingly.
In the yard of the inn twenty dragoons stood waiting the result, ready
to take the unfortunate victim off to New Jersey for immediate
execution. There were many others standing about; some on the piazza,
others in the corridors, all awaiting the result of the meeting which
was taking place in a room of the tavern.
Once only some one tried to bar their entrance, but Harriet turned
such a look upon the man that he slunk away abashed, and they
proceeded unmolested. Through the corridor they passed to the stairs.
Here they met the wife of the landlord.
"Ye can go no further, young ladies," she said, her ample form
blocking their progress. "There is an important meeting up-stairs, and
no one is allowed up there."
"Madam, you must let me go," burst from Harriet. "My brother is one of
the men from whom the victim is to be chosen. Do, do let me be where I
can at least hear what is going on."
The girl was so lovely in her distress that only for a moment did the
woman hesitate, then she turned abruptly. "Follow me," she said,
"Bless your pretty face, I could not refuse such a request as that.
But you must make no noise. You must just listen."
"Yes, yes," spoke Harriet feverishly. "That is all we ask."
"The meeting is in there," said the woman pausing before a door. "Ye
are to go in here, where there is a door between the rooms. Ye can
hear very well there. Now, remember: no noise."
"Yes, yes," spoke Harriet again. "Come, Peggy." And into the room they
hurried.
At first they heard nothing but distant echoes, as of closing doors
and people hurrying in and out of rooms. These noises resounded
through the passages, and gave a note of unusual commotion
down-stairs. Presently the distant sounds ceased, and out-of-doors all
was quiet too. All at once the hum of voices in the adjoining room
came to them. Harriet went swiftly toward the closed door, and before
Peggy realized what she was about to do, the girl had opened it.
So intent were the men in that other room that they did not notice the
opening of the door, nor did they turn their heads as the faces of the
girls appeared in the entry way. Brigadier-General Hazen, who had
charge of the post at Lancaster, was speaking, and all eyes were fixed
upon him.
On one side of a long table which stood in the center of the room sat
the thirteen young officers from whom the victim was to be selected.
Back of them stood the British Major Gordon. A little apart stood Mr.
Owen and Robert Dale with the officer of the dragoons. On the side of
the table opposite the unfortunate thirteen were John Drayton and the
commissary, with two little drummer boys. The scarlet coats of the
British made a pleasing note of color against the buff and blue of the
Continentals.
"That this drawing may be as fair as possible," General Hazen was
saying, "it has been deemed best that the names of the thirteen
officers shall be placed in one hat; in another hat shall be placed
thirteen slips of paper of the same size, all of them blank save one
on which is written the word, 'unfortunate.' These drummer boys are
to draw out the slips simultaneously from the hats. The name drawn at
the same time that the word unfortunate is drawn will be the victim
selected. Gentlemen, I have only to say that no one can regret more
deeply than I the course events have taken. Captain Drayton, will you
and the commissary take the hats?"
Amid a silence so profound that a pin could have been heard to fall
the two officers took the hats, and stood holding them on the table
while the drummer boys began the drawing. Into Peggy's mind darted
Thomas Ashley's words:
"'There shall be retaliation, Hannah. Eye for eye, tooth for tooth,
life for life.'"
She started as though some one had spoken. Retaliation! Was this what
it meant? That another innocent life should be taken? How horrible and
bloody a thing is war! Because some one else hath committed a crime
must another pay the penalty? One, two, three, four, five. Five names
drawn. And Clifford's name not yet. Not yet. Her breath came gaspingly
but strangely quiet as that other room was no one noticed it. Harriet
was clutching her hand so tightly that it ached for hours afterward,
but at the time neither girl knew it.
Six, seven, eight, nine! And still Clifford's name had not been
called. Harriet bent forward as the boy drew the next slip:
"Captain Williams," he read clearly.
And from the other, hitherto so silent, sounded at the same time a
word that fell upon the ear like a knell of doom:
"Unfortunate!"
And then from every American as well as every Englishman present there
broke a sob. That is, from every man except Clifford Owen. He was very
quiet, very composed, but his gaze was turned upon John Drayton as
though he expected triumph at the result. But tears were running down
Drayton's face, and Clifford's own countenance softened as he saw it.
Once before Peggy had heard strong men weep. Then it had been over the
defection of a brilliant soldier; now they wept that a fresh young
life must be given in reprisal. Once, twice, General Hazen had tried
to speak. At last he laid his hand upon Clifford's shoulder, and
turning to the officer of the dragoons, said huskily:
"This gentleman, sir, is your prisoner."
But at that Harriet, who had stood as though stunned, gave a great
cry, and ran to Clifford:
"My brother! My brother! My brother!"