Peggy Owen, Patriot: A Story for Girls

by Lucy Foster Madison

  CHAPTER XXIII--IN THE LINES OF THE ENEMY

  "There is but one philosophy, though there are a thousand schools-- Its name is fortitude."

  --Bulwer.

  The morning broke gloriously, and held forth the promise of a beautifulday. So mild was the weather that it seemed more like a spring day thanthe last of February. Out in the bay of the Raritan rode a sloop atanchor, and toward this the shallop made its way. They were takenaboard, and Harriet, who had left Peggy to her grief, now approachedher.

  "We have been long without either rest or food, my cousin. Come with meto breakfast. Then we will sleep until New York is reached."

  Peggy vouchsafed her never a word, but taking a position by the taffrailstood looking over the dazzling water toward the now receding shores ofNew Jersey. Into the lower bay sailed the sloop, heading at once for thenarrows. Few sails were to be seen on the wide expanse of water save tothe left where, under the heights of Staten Island, a part of theBritish fleet lay at anchor. Brilliant shafts of sunlight wavered andplayed over the face of the water. Astern, as far as the eye could see,lay the ocean, blank of all sail, the waves glinting back the stronglight of the east. Sky, water and shore all united in one sublimeharmony of pearls and grays of which the grandeur was none the less forlack of vivid coloring.

  The discordant note lay in Peggy's heart. She was full of thehumiliation and bitterness of trust betrayed. Humiliation because shehad been tricked so easily, and bitterness as the full realization ofher cousin's treachery came to her. And General Washington! What wouldhe think when she did not come to him as she had promised? He would deemher a spy. And she was Peggy Owen! Peggy Owen--who had prided herself onher love for her country. Oh, it was bitter! Bitter! And so she stoodwith unseeing eyes for the grand panorama of bay and shore that wasunfolding before her.

  The wind was favorable, yet it was past one of the clock before thevessel made the narrows, glided past Nutten's[[2]] Island, and finallycame to anchor alongside the Whitehall Slip. Harriet, who had remainedbelow the entire journey, now came on deck looking much refreshed.

  "You foolish Peggy!" she cried. "Of what use is it to grieve o'er whatcannot be helped? Think you that I did not wish to be with my peoplewhen I was in the rebel camp?"

  "Thee came there of thine own free will," answered Peggy coldly, "whileI am here through no wish of mine. Why did thee bring me?"

  "Out of affection, of course," laughed Harriet. "Ah! there is father onthe shore waiting for us."

  "I thought thee said that he was in the South," Peggy reminded her.

  "One says so many things in war time," answered Harriet with a shrug ofher shoulders. "Perchance I intended to say Clifford."

  "And so you are come to return some of our visits, my little cousin,"cried Colonel Owen, coming forward from the side of a coach as they cameashore. "'Twas well thought. 'Twill be delightsome to return some ofyour hospitality."

  "Oh, Cousin William," cried she, the tears beginning to flow, "do sendme back to my mother! Oh, I do want my mother!"

  "Tut, tut!" he rejoined. "Homesick already? You should have consideredthat when you planned to come with Harriet."

  "When I what?" exclaimed Peggy, looking up through her tears.

  "Planned to come with Harriet," he repeated impatiently. "She wrote sometime since that she would bring you. Come! The dinner waits. We haveprepared for you every day for a week past. I am glad the waiting isover. Come, my cousin."

  And Peggy, seeing that further pleading was of no avail, entered thecoach, silently determined to make no other appeal. A short drivebrought them to a spacious dwelling standing in the midst of largegrounds in the Richmond Hill district, which was situated on the westernside of Manhattan Island, a little removed from the city proper. Thebuilding stood on an eminence commanding a view of the Hudson River andthe bay, for at that time there were no houses or other buildings toobstruct the vision, and was surrounded by noble trees. A carefullycultivated lawn even then, so mild had been the winter, showing a littlegreen stretched on one side as far as the road which ran past the house.On the other was the plot for the gardens, while in the rear of themansion the orchard extended to the river bank. On every hand wasevidence of wealth and luxury, and Peggy's heart grew heavy indeed asshe came to know that Colonel Owen's poverty had been but another ofHarriet's fabrications.

  She sat silent and miserable at the table while Harriet, who was in highspirits, related the incidents of the past few days: the finding of thenote in the roadway, the warning of the governor and the brigade, andhow she had been petted and praised for her heroism. Her father andCaptain Greyling, who had accompanied them home, laughed uproariously atthis.

  "Upon my life, my cousin," cried William Owen, "I wonder not that youare in the dumps. Fie, fie, Harriet! 'twas most unmannerly to steal sucha march upon your cousin. For shame! And did our little cousin weep outher pretty eyes in pique that you were so feted?"

  But Peggy was in no mood for banter. There was a sparkle in her eyes,and an accent in her voice that showed that she was not to be trifledwith as she said clearly:

  "No, Cousin William, I did not weep. It mattered not who gave thewarning so long as the governor and the brigade received it. It was mostfitting that Harriet should have the praise, as that was all she got outof it. 'Twas planned, as thee must know, for her to receive a moresubstantial reward."

  "You have not lost your gift of a sharp tongue, I perceive," he answereda flush mantling his brow. "Have a care to your words, my little cousin.You are no longer in your home, but in mine."

  "I am aware of that, sir. But that I am here is by no will of mine. If Iam used despitefully 'tis no more than is to be expected from those whoknow naught but guile and artifice."

  "Have done," he cried, rising from the table. "Am I to be railed at inmine own house? Harriet, show this girl to her chamber."

  Nothing loth Peggy followed her cousin to a little room on the secondfloor, whose one window looked out upon the noble Hudson and the distantJersey shore.

  "Aren't you going to be friends, Peggy?" questioned Harriet pausing atthe door. "I could not do other than I did. Father wished me to bringyou here."

  "But why?" asked Peggy turning upon her. "Why should he want me here? Isit to flout me?"

  "I know not, Peggy. But be friends, won't you? There is much more sportto be had here in the city than in yon camp. You shall share with me inthe fun."

  "I care not for it," rejoined Peggy coldly. "And I will never forgivethee, Harriet Owen. Never! I see not how thee could act so."

  And so saying she turned from her cousin with unmistakable aversion, andwalking to the window gazed with aching heart at the Jersey shore line.Harriet stood for a moment, and then went out, closing the door behindher. Presently Peggy flung herself on the bed and gave way to her bitterwoe in a flood of tears. For what lay at the bottom of her bitterness?It was the sharp knowledge that, with just a little forethought, alittle heeding of her mother's and John Drayton's warnings, all thismight have been avoided.

  Human nature is very weak, and any grief that comes from our owncarelessness, or lack of thought is harder to bear than that woe whichis caused by untoward circumstances. But at last tired nature asserteditself, and Peggy fell asleep.

  Long hours after she awoke. It was quite dark in the room, and she wasstiff with cold. For a moment she fancied herself in her own little roomunder the eaves at the camp, but soon a realization of where she wascame to her. She rose and groped her way to the window. The moon shoneupon the river and the Jersey shore. She looked toward the latteryearningly.

  "Mother," she whispered with quivering lips, "mother, what would theehave me to do?" And suddenly it seemed to her that she could hear thesweet voice of her mother saying:

  "My daughter, thou must bear with meekness the afflictions that are sentupon thee. Hast thou not been taught to do good to them thatdespitefully use thee?" Peggy uttered a
cry of protest.

  "I cannot forgive them! They have behaved treacherously toward me. Andmy country! 'Tis not to be endured that I should be placed in suchposition toward it. 'Tis not to be endured, I say."

  "Thou hast been close to sacred things all thy life, my child," soundedthat gentle voice. "Of what avail hath it been if thy actions are nodifferent from those of the world? And thou art not without blame in thematter."

  Long Peggy stood at the window. It seemed to her that her mother wasvery near to her. And so communing with that loved mother the bitternessdied out of her heart, and she wept. No longer virulently, but softly,the gentle tears of resignation.

  "I will try to bear it," she murmured, as she crept between the coversof the bed. "I will be brave, and as good as thee would have me be,mother. And I will be so truthful in act and word that it may shame themout of deceit. And maybe, maybe if I am good a way will be opened for meto get back to thee."

  And so she fell into a restful sleep.

  -----[2] Now Governor's Island.