A LITTLE HUMOR DESPITE A GRIM SITUATION
"Alas! regardless of their doom,
The little victims play!
No sense have they of ills to come,
No care beyond to-day."
--_Gray._
The great clock of the State House was striking ten, the next morning,
as Peggy emerged from the west entrance of the dwelling, and, basket
in hand, went down the steps of the terrace into the gardens.
It was a lovely day. The sky was blue with June's own cerulean hue,
and across its depths floated the softest of fleecy white clouds. The
air was fresh and balmy, and tinged with the honeyed sweetness of red
roses. With basket and shears the girl wandered from bush to bush,
cutting the choicest blossoms. That her mind was not on her task was
manifest by the fact that ever and anon she paused, shears in hand,
and became absorbed in thought. In this manner she sauntered through
the grassy paths and graveled alleys until she came at length to the
fence which separated the garden from Fifth Street. Peggy stopped
here, and gazed thoughtfully across at the State House, as she was
wont to do in the early years of the war.
"What will the Congress do?" she mused. "Would that I could see into
that east room! Will they listen to Harriet, I wonder? And the people!
how many there are in the square. What makes them cluster about the
grounds so?"
The State House Square was in truth filled with groups of men who
stood about talking earnestly. It was the custom of the citizens of
Philadelphia to do this when any exciting event occurred, or when any
stirring measure was before the Congress. Peggy's curiosity as to the
cause was therefore natural, but there was no one near who could
gratify it, so she turned reluctantly from the fence, and resumed her
task of cutting the roses. Abstractedly she worked, oblivious to her
surroundings, when all at once the sound of flying feet brought her
back to reality. Startled she turned to see Sally Evans running
toward her from under the trees.
"I have just heard about Clifford, Peggy," cried Sally, flinging
herself upon her friend. "Mr. Deering told me. I thought that I should
find thee here, or some of thy people. Oh, Peggy! Peggy! that it
should be Clifford."
"Yes," replied Peggy sorrowfully, as she returned the embrace. "'Tis
dreadful."
"And what is thee going to do anent it? Why, Peggy Owen! surely thee
hasn't been coolly picking flowers?"
"I had to do something, Sally, to while away the time until they come
back," apologized Peggy meekly. "Waiting is trying when so much
depends upon the issue."
"Whatever is thee talking about?" demanded Sally bewildered. "Sit down
here under this tree, Peggy, and tell me all about everything. Whom
does thee mean by they?"
"Father and Harriet, Sally. They have gone over to see the Congress to
see if aught can be done for Clifford."
"Harriet?" ejaculated Sally. "I thought that Harriet was in New York
City with her father. How did she come here?"
"I'll tell thee all about it," answered Peggy, sinking down beside
Sally under a tree. Forthwith she told her friend everything that had
happened since leaving Philadelphia, beginning with the meeting with
Harriet on the road to Lancaster, and ending with the journey back to
the city after Clifford had been chosen as the unfortunate victim.
Sally listened attentively.
"Oh!" she breathed when Peggy had concluded her narrative. "And does
thee think the Congress will do anything for him, Peggy?"
"I fear not," answered Peggy sadly. "Father hath little hope of it,
but Harriet will leave naught undone that promises the least relief.
If Congress does nothing, we are to go on to General Washington. In
any event Harriet will go to New York to see the British general."
"Well, General Washington ought to do something," cried Sally. "He
hath a kind heart, and it does seem awful to hang Clifford when he had
naught to do with Fairfax's death. Doesn't thee think he will?"
"Sally," spoke Peggy earnestly, "there is but one thing that can save
Clifford Owen: that is for the English commander to give up Captain
Lippencott. That he hath heretofore refused to do."
"Oh, Peggy! then thee believes that he must die?" came from Sally in a
sob.
"I am afraid so, Sally. Clifford himself thinks there is no hope."
For a time Sally sat very still, then she spoke softly:
"Peggy!"
"Yes, Sally."
"Did thee tell Clifford about me? How I did not betray him to Sheriff
Will?"
"I tried to, but he would not listen. Harriet took him to task for it,
Sally. She told him that if thee said thee did not betray him, thee
didn't." And Peggy related all that had passed regarding the matter.
"Then he will die believing that I was a false friend to thee, and
that I betrayed him who was a guest of my hospitality," remarked the
girl mournfully. "Oh, 'tis bitter to be misjudged! 'Tis bitter!" And
to Peggy's astonishment she burst into tears.
"Why, Sally! I did not know thee cared so much," cried Peggy.
"I--I don't," flashed Sally. "At least, not much. 'Tis only--only that
I do not like to be misjudged. And I've never been given so much as a
chance to defend myself. Oh, dear!" dabbing her eyes viciously with
her kerchief as she spoke, "I don't suppose they can help it, but of
all stubborn, unreasonable creatures on this earth I do think
Englishmen are the worst! I'd just like one chance to tell Clifford
Owen so."
"Well, why doesn't thee?" asked Peggy suddenly.
"Peggy!" Sally sat up very straight and stared at her. "Just what does
thee mean?"
"Just what I say, Sally. He is at the Bunch of Grapes. If thee wishes
to see him I will take thee there. Then thee can have thy chance."
"But--but----" The color flooded Sally's face from brow to chin.
Presently she laughed. "Well, he couldn't run away from me, could he?
He would have to listen. I'll do it. 'Twill be the last opportunity I
shall ever have of clearing myself. I would not dare do it only,
being bound, he cannot help but listen. Come, Peggy!"
"Bound?" exclaimed Peggy amazed. "What put such a notion in thy head,
Sally? He was not when we came from Lancaster."
"That was because he was riding. 'Tis only since he entered the city.
Did thee not know that the Minister of War hath charge of him now?
'Tis he who hath insisted upon extra precautions being taken on
account of the Tories. 'Tis talked everywhere on the streets, Peggy,
that he is bound."
Peggy instantly became troubled.
"That would be severe treatment," she said. "Methought 'twas
understood that he was to be granted every indulgence consistent with
his safe-keeping. I like not to think of him being bound. Let's go,
Sally."
Quickly they made themselves ready, and then proceeded to the Bunch of
Grapes Tavern in Third Street. Sally alternated between timidity and
assurance.
"With the shadow of death upon him he ought to wish to right every
injustice that he hath done," she remarked as they reached the inn.
Peggy caught sight of Major Gordon just then, and did not reply.
Instead she called to the British officer. He came to them instantly.
"May we see Captain Williams for a few moments, sir?" she asked.
"I'll see, Miss Peggy," he answered. "You know, of course, that he is
guarded more stringently here than he was on the road, but I think
there can be no objection to his friends seeing him."
"Tell him 'tis his cousin, Margaret, and----"
"Don't thee tell him who is with thee, Peggy." Sally's whispered
admonition was plainly audible. She had all at once become fearful.
"If he were not bound I would not dare venture in."
A puzzled look crossed Major Gordon's face. He turned to her quickly.
"May I ask why you would not venture in unless he were bound?" he
asked.
"Because," uttered Sally blushing, "if he isn't bound he will not
listen to what I have to say. I want to explain something that he
ought to know. He would never listen before; now he cannot help
himself."
A violent fit of coughing seized the officer, preventing him from
replying. Presently recovering he cleared his throat, and left them
precipitantly. He was gone but a few moments.
"You may see him for a short time, ladies," he reported. "This way."
They followed him into a large room situated at the end of a long
hall. The first thing the girls saw was Clifford, who was half
sitting, half reclining in a chair. And his feet and hands were wound
about with cords. Peggy felt a catch in her throat as she saw it,
while Sally turned white to the lips. The room was scantily furnished,
and several dragoons lounged about, but for all their apparent
negligence they never for one moment ceased to regard their prisoner.
The youth himself looked wan and haggard. He greeted Peggy with marked
pleasure.
"And where is Harriet, my cousin?" he asked.
"She hath gone with father to see the Congress," replied Peggy. "And
here is Sally, Clifford. 'Tis for her sake that we have come. She
wishes to speak with thee."
"You wish speech with me, Mistress Sally?" questioned he coldly.
"Wherefore?"
"Thee is to die," burst from Sally with emotion. "I could not bear for
thee to die believing that I had betrayed thee."
"I am to die, yes," he said with settled calm. "What have such things
to do with me?"
"Everything," she answered shrilly. "If I had to die, Clifford Owen, I
should want to right whatever of injustice I had done, were it
possible to do so. And thee has been unjust to me. I have come hoping
that now thee will listen to my explanation. Thee wouldn't hear Peggy,
thee wouldn't hear Mr. Owen, but now thee will listen to me, won't
thee?"
"I don't see how I can help myself, mistress," he responded grimly.
"Seeing that my hands are bound, I cannot stop my ears."
And at this Peggy marveled anew. Closely guarded the youth had been
all the way into Philadelphia. Major Gordon had spoken of an increase
in vigilance since entering the city, but to bind him! Americans were
not usually so unkind. The change in treatment puzzled her.
"Why should they bind thee?" ejaculated Sally in reply to Clifford.
"'Tis cruel!"
"I thought that you wished me bound, Miss Sally," he observed gravely.
"We-ell! I don't wish thee bound, Friend Clifford, but thee would not
listen to me unless thee were. Do--do the thongs hurt thee very much?"
Now when an exceedingly pretty girl pities a man for any discomfort he
is undergoing it would be an abnormal being who did not get out of it
all that he could. And Sally, with her hair escaping from under her
cap in soft little tendrils, her blue eyes wet with tears of
compassion like violets drenched with dew, made a bewitching picture.
So Clifford pulled a long face, and said lugubriously:
"It's pretty bad, mistress."
"Oh!" she cried. "I wish I could help thee. 'Tis monstrously cruel to
use thee so! Yet thee would not listen to me if thee were not bound;
would thee?"
"Perchance 'twould be best to take advantage of the fact, and tell me
what you have come to say," he suggested with the hint of a smile.
And rapidly Sally told him how the wretched mistake had occurred which
led him to disbelieve her truthfulness. She told also of the Council
and what had happened before it. All this part he had heard from Mr.
Owen, though he did not tell her.
"And now," she ended with a deep sigh of relief, "thee knows at last
just how the matter was."
"Well? And what then?" Clifford was smiling now. "Now you wish me to
acknowledge how wrong I was, I suppose?"
"Nay," spoke Sally rising. "I did not want anything except for thee to
hear the facts. 'Twould be too much to ask of an Englishman to admit
that he was wrong. 'Tis a national characteristic to persist in
wrong-doing, and wrong believing even when the right is made plain.
Had this not been the case we should not have had to go through all
these weary years of fighting."
"'Fore George, Mistress Sally, but you hit from the shoulder! Now here
is one Englishman who is going to prove that you are mistaken. It was
unjust of me to believe that you could be capable of treachery. I
crave your pardon most humbly. I believe that you did your best to
help me last spring. These past few days, since I have known that
death is so close, have made me look differently at many things. If
you think of me at all in future, Miss Sally, let it be as gently as
you can."
He rose as he finished speaking, lightly throwing aside the cords that
confined his wrists and ankles, and held out his hand to her with his
most winning smile. Much moved Sally placed her hand within his; then,
with an exclamation, she withdrew it suddenly.
"Why!" she cried. "Why, thee isn't bound at all!"
"No? Well, you see I understood that you would not dare to come in
unless I was bound. Of course, rather than cause you annoyance I had
to pretend to be so."
The youth was laughing now, and Peggy, mightily relieved to find that
such harsh treatment was not to be accorded him, laughed also. Not so
Sally. She stood regarding him with eyes in which slowly grew an
expression of pain and scorn.
"Now you aren't going to hold it against me, are you, Miss Sally?" he
pleaded.
"When I asked thee if the bonds hurt, thee said, 'Pretty bad,'" stated
Sally, her manner full of accusation.
"I did," he admitted.
"It was not true," she cried. "And thee is to die! To die, and yet
thee could stoop to trickery! Oh, how could thee do it? Thou art under
the shadow of death. I would rather a thousand times that thee would
have remained the obstinate Englishman that I deemed thee than to know
that thee could do this."
With that she flung up her head, and without another glance in his
direction went swiftly out of the room.