Peggy Owen, Patriot: A Story for Girls

by Lucy Foster Madison

  CHAPTER XXVII--A HAVEN AFTER THE STORM

  "Safe through the war her course the vessel steers, The haven gained, the pilot drops his fears."

  --Shirley.

  "We must," burst from Peggy, springing up wildly. "Oh, friend, can'tthee do something? We must not leave them."

  "Sit still," commanded the mate sharply. "Why, look you! We can't evensee the 'Falcon' for the fog."

  It was true. Already the hapless "Falcon" had been swallowed up by thedense veil of vapor. It was as if the doomed vessel had been cut offfrom all the open sea, and its fate hidden in the clinging curtain ofblack obscurity.

  The girl uttered a low cry, and sank back to her place in the sheetscovering her face with her hands. Colonel Owen and Harriet had beenunkind. They had been selfish almost to cruelty in their treatment ofher, but in this hour of what she believed to be certain death to themshe forgot everything but that they were kinspeople.

  The sea was running very high. Now that they were so near its surfacethey felt its full power. It had appeared stupendous when they were onthe deck of the schooner, but now the great billows hurled them up anddown, and tossed and buffeted them as though the boat was a plaything.Vainly the mate tried to steady it with the oars.

  A long time Peggy sat so absorbed in grief for her cousins that she wasoblivious to the peril of the situation. At length, however, she lookedup, and the dreadful isolation and danger of the position appalled her.Only that little boat between them and the great Atlantic.

  "I am cold," she exclaimed, when she could bear it no longer. "Sir," tothe mate, who was making tremendous effort with the oars, "is therenaught that will keep me from freezing?"

  "No," answered he shortly, turning his set face toward her for a moment.Its tense lines relaxed at sight of the girlish figure. "Stay! I haveit. Come, and row a while. You will be wetter than ever, but 'twill warmyou a bit."

  Without a question Peggy gladly took the place by his side, and began toscull as vigorously as her numbed fingers would permit with the oar hegave her. She was not of much assistance, but the exercise served towarm her chilled frame, and to divert her attention from their peril.

  In this manner the day went on, the wind died down, and the sea fell toa low, glassy, foam-flecked roll, while overhead brooded the inky sky,and round them was the leaden mist of the enveloping fog. Suddenly themate stopped rowing, and raised his head as though listening.

  "It's land," he shouted. "Land, to the westward!" He listened againintently, and added solemnly: "And it's breakers too, God help us!"

  Peggy listened breathlessly. The air was full of sound, a low, deeproar, like the roll of a thousand wheels, the tramp of endless armies,or--what it was--the thunder of a mighty surge upon a pebbly ridge. Louderand nearer grew the sound. The mate's face whitened, and Peggy saterect, full of terror at the unknown danger that confronted them.

  "I must pull," he cried, sweeping her back to her place in the sheets."I must pull," he cried again as the fog lifted and the dim outline of ashore line became visible. "It's a race with death, little girl, but wemay be the victors."

  With mighty strokes he sent the dingey ahead into the boiling surf. Agreat wave caught the little shallop upon its broad bosom and flung itupon the reef which lay concealed in the foam. There was a horriblerending crash as the stout keel snapped asunder, while a second waveswept over it, sweeping out the struggling occupants, and bearing themonward.

  Peggy knew naught of swimming, and so made no attempt to strike out. Shefelt the water surging into her ears like a torrent of ice. She feltthat she was sinking down, down as if a great weight held herremorselessly. This was death, she thought, and as the pain in her lungsincreased, visions passed swiftly through her brain. Where was the mate,she wondered. A race with death, he had said. And death was the victorafter all. Her mother's face flashed before her. She was dying and shewould never know. And Sally! And Betty! And Robert! What times they hadhad! Would they grieve, when they knew? But they would never know.

  There was no hope. She must be resigned, came the thought, and so sheceased to struggle just as a huge roller came surging over the outlyingreef. It caught her and bore her onward on its crest. Peggy closed hereyes.

  "The pore child! She's coming to at last," sounded a kindly voice, andPeggy opened her eyes and gazed into the anxious orbs of an elderlywoman who was bending over her. "There now, you pore dear! Don't stir.Just drink this, and go to sleep."

  A cup of something hot was held to her lips. She drank it obediently andsank back too utterly exhausted to even wonder where she was. She was ina warm, dry bed. There was a caress in the touch of the hands thatministered to her which penetrated through the stupor which was stealingover her, and with a sigh of content, she turned over and slept.

  The recollections of the next few days were always thereafter dim to hermind. She knew that an elderly woman, somewhat rough-looking, was in theroom frequently, but to speak or to move her limbs was quite impossible.But on the fourth day she was better. The fifth she could speak, move,rise in bed and turn, and when the woman brought some gruel in themiddle of the day Peggy ate it with a relish. She felt strong andrevived, and a desire for action stirred her. She wished to rise, andsat up suddenly.

  "I believe if thee will help me I will get up," she said.

  "Sakes alive, child! air you able?" cried the woman in alarm.

  "Yes," said Peggy stoutly. "And I have troubled thee greatly, I fear."

  "Why, you little storm-tossed bird," exclaimed the woman, "don't you gofor to call it trouble. Me and Henry just feel as though you was sent tous. Well, if you will get up, here are your clothes." She brought Peggyher own things, clean and dry, and proceeded to help her dress. "There,you do look better now you are dressed. Let me help you to the kitchen."

  She put her arm about the maiden, and drew her gently across the room tothe one beyond which was kitchen and living-room as well. It was a largeroom with a sanded floor clean scoured, a high backed settle, a dealtable, a dresser with pewter plates ranged in rows, reflecting theredness and radiance of a glowing fire in a huge fireplace. The womanbustled about hospitably.

  "You must have something to eat," she declared. "You've had naught butgruel for so long that you must be hungry."

  "I am," replied Peggy, watching her in a maze of content. Presently shesat up as a thought came to her. "Friend," she cried, "how came I here?"

  "Why, Henry brought you," responded the woman. "It was after the bigstorm. We ain't seen such a storm in years. Henry's my husband. He's afisherman, as mayhap you've surmised. That is, he fishes for food, but Ireckon you might call him a wrecker too," she added with a smile. "Well,as I was saying, he was down on the beach when you was washed up by thewaves. He thought you was dead at first, but when you got up, and triedto walk he just ran over to you as you fell and brought you right up tothe house. Land! but we thought you was never coming to! But you did,and now you'll be all right in a day or two."

  "How good thee has been," said Peggy gratefully. "Why, thou and thyhusband have saved my life. I was so cold in the water and I--I wasdrowning. Then that terrible wave threw me----" She paused shuddering atthe remembrance.

  "Dear heart, don't think about it," exclaimed the good dame hastening toher. "Here, child, eat this piece of chicken. It will hearten you upmore than anything. After a bit mayhap you can tell me about yourself.But not a word until every bite of chicken is gone."

  Peggy smiled at the good woman's insistence, but did not refuse thechicken. Her appetite was awakened and keen, and she ate the piece withsuch a relish that her hostess was well pleased. "There now! you lookbetter already," she declared. "Henry will be glad to see it. He takes aheap of interest in the folks he saves. I reckon he's saved more livesthan any man on the coast of North Carolina."

  "Is this North Carolina?" asked Peggy.

  "Yes; and this is Fisherman's Inlet, near the Cape Fear River. What shipdid you say you
was on?"

  "'Twas the schooner 'Falcon,' from New York," Peggy told her. "It wasone of the vessels with Sir Henry Clinton, who set forth to attackCharleston."

  The woman's face darkened ominously. "And you air a Tory, of course,being as you air a Quaker and with a British ship?" she saidquestioningly.

  "I? Oh, no, no!" cried Peggy quickly. "Why, my father is David Owen ofthe Pennsylvania Light Horse. He is with the Continental army. I am apatriot, but I was captured and taken to New York City, where I havebeen since the last day of February of last year. It's nearly a year,"she ended, her lips quivering.

  "You don't say!" ejaculated the woman. "Then you must be a prisoner ofwar?"

  "I know not that I would be truly a prisoner of war," answered Peggy,"for 'twas my father's cousin who captured me. I will tell thee allabout it."

  "You pore child," exclaimed the woman, who ceased her work as Peggyunfolded her story, and listened with wide-eyed attention. "What a lotyou've been through! I'm glad that you're not one of them English."

  "And is thee a Whig?" asked Peggy.

  "As I said, we air fisher folks, and don't mingle in politics. We don'twish harm to nobody, English or any other. Why, even though we airwreckers we always pray for the poor sailors in a storm, but we pray toothat if there air any wrecks they will be washed up on Fisherman'sInlet."

  A ripple of laughter rose to Peggy's lips, but she checked it instantly."How can I laugh," she reproached herself, "when 'tis but a few dayssince I was on the ship? And the others have all perished, I doubt not."

  "Don't think about it," advised the dame. "Laugh if you can. A lightheart is the only way to bear trouble. 'Tis a just punishment that theyshould be drowned."

  "But if Harriet had not made me go first I would not have been here,"said Peggy her voice growing tender at the mention of her cousin. Allthe old love and admiration for Harriet had returned with that act.

  "I wonder," she added presently, "if 'twould be possible for me to getto Philadelphia from here?"

  "Philadelphia! I am afraid not, child. You don't know the way, and Idoubt if 'twould be safe to try it. Get strong first, and mayhapsomething will turn up that will help you to get there."

  "Yes," said Peggy. "I must get strong first."