Peggy Owen, Patriot: A Story for Girls

by Lucy Foster Madison

  CHAPTER XXXI--HOW THE NEWS WAS RECEIVED AT CAMP

  "Just for a handful of silver he left us, Just for a riband to stick in his coat--

  * * * * *

  Blot out his name, then, record one lost soul more, One task more declined, one more foot-path untrod, One more devil's-triumph and sorrow for angels, One more wrong to man, one more insult to God."

  --"The Lost Leader," Browning.

  White and shaken Peggy leaned weakly against a tree, and covered herface with her hands.

  "We must be getting on, miss," spoke the mountaineer, after a fewmoments of silence.

  "And leave him like that?" cried the girl aghast.

  "There is naught else to be done," he replied gravely. "We have nothingto bury him with."

  "But 'tis wrong," remonstrated she, kneeling beside the dead vidette,and touching his brow reverently. "He died for his country, friend."

  "Tell them at the camp," suggested he. "Mayhap they will send out andget him."

  "Yes; that is what we must do," she said. "I could not bear to think ofhim lying here without Christian burial."

  "And what is it now, miss?" questioned Hart, as she still lingered.

  "Could we cut a lock from his hair, friend? For his wife! I know thatmother and I would wish if father--if father----" Peggy faltered andchoked.

  Silently Hart drew out his hunting-knife and severed a lock of hair fromthe vidette's head, which the maiden placed with the despatches in thebosom of her gown. Then taking the kerchief from about her throat shespread it over his face, and followed the mountaineer back to the road.As they left the spot the horse resumed his former position, and a lastglance from Peggy showed the faithful creature standing guard over thedead form of his master.

  "Whatever made you so long, Joe?" cried his wife petulantly. "The baby'sthat fretful that I don't know what to do with her. She's jest wore out,and we must get where something can be done for her."

  "Tilly," he answered gravely, "there was a pore soger in there who died.He wanted us to take his despatches to Gates. I reckon we'll have to goback to Hillsboro'town."

  "Back fifteen miles, with the baby sick," exclaimed the woman in dismay."Joe Hart, you must be crazy. We shan't do no such thing. It will loseus a whole day, and we ain't got any too much time as 'tis. Your ownflesh and blood comes before anything else, I reckon. Jest see how thechild looks."

  The baby did look ill. The father regarded it anxiously, and thenglanced about him with an uncertain manner.

  "The general ought to have them despatches," he said, "but the child issick, sure enuff. Mayhap we can find somebody to take the letters backat the next cabin."

  "Nay," objected Peggy. "I promised the soldier that I would see that thepapers were given into the general's own hands; therefore I will rideback with them. We cannot trust to uncertainties."

  "Yes," spoke the wife eagerly. "That is just the thing, Joe. The girlcan take them. It's daylight, and nothing won't hurt her. We'd best pushon to where the baby can be 'tended to. She can catch up with usto-morrow!"

  "Very well," replied Peggy quietly. "And, friend, where shall I tell thegeneral to come for the body? Does thee know the place?"

  The mountaineer glanced about him. "Jest tell him about two mile abovethe cross-tree crossing," he said. "On the north side the road. Anybodythat knows the country will know where 'tis. I don't like----" But Peggybade them good-bye and was gone before he could voice any furtherregrets.

  "'Twas useless to parley over the matter," she thought as a turn in theroad hid them from view. "In truth the little one did look ill. I wouldas soon be alone, and I can return the faster. This awful thing aboutGeneral Arnold! How could it have happened? Why, oh, why did he do it?"

  Her thoughts flew back to the night of the tea at General Arnold'sheadquarters. How kind he had seemed then. The dark handsome face camebefore her as she remembered how he had walked down the room by herside, and how proud she had felt of his attention. And how good he hadbeen to John Drayton! Drayton! Peggy started as the thought of the ladcame to her. How had he taken it? The boy had loved him so.

  It is never pleasant to be the bearer of ill tidings, and Peggy foundherself lagging more than once in her journey. The afternoon was drawingto a close when she came in sight of the town on the Eno near which thearmy was encamped. They had passed around it in the morning. Mrs. Harthad feared that her husband might be tempted into staying with the army,and so had insisted upon the detour.

  The little town, nestled among beautiful eminences, seemed deserted asthe maiden rode down the long unpaved street to the upland beyond, wherethe camp lay. In reality the inhabitants were at supper, and sundryfragrant odors were wafted from the various dwellings to the passinggirl. Peggy, however, was too heavy of heart for an appeal to thesenses, though she had not tasted food since the morning meal.

  Passing at length through a defile the encampment came to view. It wassurrounded with woods, and guarded in its rear by the smooth and gentleriver. A farmhouse in the immediate neighborhood served as headquartersfor the officers.

  Numerous horses were tethered in rows about the upland plain. There wereno tents or huts, but rude accommodations for the men had been made bybranches and underwood set against ridge-poles that were sustained bystakes, and topped by sheaves of Indian corn.

  Groups of men were scattered over the plain, some wagons were to be seenin one direction, and not far off, a line of fires around which partieswere engaged cooking food. Here and there a sentinel was pacing hisshort limits, and occasionally the roll of the drum, or the flourish ofa fife told of some ceremony of the camp.

  Peggy had but time to observe these details when she was stopped by thepicket who demanded the countersign.

  "I know it not, friend," was her response. "Lead me at once to thygeneral, I beg thee; for I bear despatches for him."

  At this moment the officer in charge of the relief guard, for thebeautiful and inspiring music of the sunset retreat was just sounding,came up.

  "What is it, Johnson?" he asked. Peggy gave a little cry at the sound ofhis voice.

  "John!" she cried. "John Drayton!"

  "Peggy," he gasped. "In the name of all that's wonderful, what are youdoing here?"

  "I might ask thee the same thing," she returned. "I was thinking of theebut now, John."

  "Were you?" he cried gladly. "I am a lieutenant now, Peggy." He squaredhis shoulders with the jaunty air which the girl remembered so well, andwhich had always caused Harriet so much amusement. "What think you ofthat?"

  "Oh, I am glad, glad," she returned.

  "There is so much to tell you," continued he. "Just wait until I placethis other sentinel, and then we can have a nice long talk."

  "I can't, John," exclaimed she, remembering her mission. "I beardespatches for the general."

  "You with despatches," he ejaculated laughing. "Have you 'listed,Peggy?"

  "Nay," returned she gravely, his lightness of heart striking her like ablow. How could she tell him? "John, let me give the letters first."

  "Come," said he. "I will take you there at once. I am curious as to whyyou are the bearer of such missives."

  "'Tis ill tidings," spoke Peggy.

  "Another disaster, eh?" He laid his arm over the pony's glossy neck andwalked thus over toward the farmhouse. "Well, we are used to them. Avictory would upset us more than anything just at present. The day weheard of King's Mountain I thought the men would go wild. We didn't tryto maintain discipline on that day. Oh, well; if we are whipped, we justfight 'em again. We'll win out in time."

  The color fled from Peggy's face. He did not know, and it was she whomust tell him. How would he bear it? They had reached the farmhouse bythe time, and Drayton assisted Peggy from the horse, and turned to anorderly.

  "Will you say to the general that Ensign--I mean Lieutenant Drayton iswithout with a young lady who bears despatches? 'Tis important. I havehardly got used to my
new dignity yet," he explained turning to Peggywith a boyish laugh. "It's good to see you, Peggy."

  "John," said the girl, laying her hand on his arm and speaking withintense earnestness. "Will thee try to be brave? The news I bring----"

  "What mean you?" he asked in surprise. "Why should a disaster effect memore than any one else? Peggy, I never knew you to act and to speak sostrangely before. What is it?"

  "The general waits, lieutenant," interrupted the orderly. "He has but afew moments, as he is going to Hillsboro' for the night."

  "Come, Peggy," said Drayton. "I will take you in." They passed into thedwelling, and Drayton opened a door on the right of the hall which ledto General Gates' office. There were several men in the room, among themColonel Daniel Morgan who had but recently arrived, and Colonel WilliamWashington.

  "General Gates," said Drayton saluting, "allow me to present MistressPeggy Owen, who is the bearer of despatches. She is the daughter ofDavid Owen, of the Pennsylvania Light Horse."

  "You are welcome, Mistress Owen," said General Gates rising courteously."Stay, lieutenant," as the lad made a movement to depart. "If the younglady is friend of yours you may be her escort back to Hillsboro' whenthe mission is ended."

  "Thank you, sir," said Drayton, saluting again.

  "Sir," said Peggy with a certain wistfulness in her voice caused by theknowledge of the news she bore, "before thee takes the letters I shouldlike to tell thee how I came by them."

  "Certainly you may," he said regarding her with a new deference, for thegirl's manner and accents bespoke her gentle breeding.

  "YOU ARE WELCOME," SAID GENERAL GATES]

  And standing there Peggy told simply the story of how she had becomepossessed of the despatches. A stillness came upon them as she relatedthe death of the vidette, her tones vibrating with tenderness andfeeling.

  "He died for his country," she said, "and, sir, he wished that told tohis wife. She was not to grieve; for 'twas for his country. And hishorse, General Gates. I promised that I would speak to thee concerninghim. We left him guarding the body. Thee will see that he is cared for,will thee not?"

  "Yes," he said, much moved. "So noble an animal should be looked wellto. Did you learn the man's name, mistress?"

  "'Twas Trumbull, sir. William Trumbull, of Fairfield, Connecticut."

  "I will inform his wife myself," said he, making a note of the matter."He died a hero performing his duty. And now may I have the despatches?"

  He extended his hand with a smile, saying as he did so: "A man wouldhave given them first, and the story afterward; but this little maidfeared we would forget the vidette if she delayed until afterward."

  "Yes," acknowledged the girl, looking at him earnestly, for she hadfeared that very thing. "Sir," giving him the despatches, "I pray theeto pardon me for being the bearer of such awful tidings."

  There was a slight smile on General Gates' face at her manner ofspeaking, but it died quickly as he ran his eye down the written page.He uttered an exclamation as he mastered the contents, and then stoodstaring at the paper. At length, however, he turned to the men at thetable, and said in a hollow voice:

  "Gentlemen, it becomes my painful duty to inform you that Major-GeneralArnold is a traitor to his country."

  An awful pause followed the announcement--a pause that throbbed with thedespair of brave men. Disaster had followed fast upon disaster. TheSouth was all but lost. Two armies had been wiped out of existence inthree months, and what was left was but a pitiful remnant. Washington'sforce in the North was so weakened by detaching troops for the defenseof the South that he was unable to strike a blow. And now this calamitywas the culmination. A murmur broke out in the room. Then, as thoughgalvanized into action by that murmur, John Drayton, who had stood asthough petrified, bounded forward with a roar.

  "'Tis false," he cried, whipping out his sword. "I'll run any manthrough who says that my general is a traitor!"

  He advanced threateningly toward General Gates as he spoke. He had drawnupon his superior officer, but there was no anger in the glance thatHoratio Gates cast upon him.

  "Would God it were false," he said solemnly. "But here are proofs. Thisis a letter from Congress; this one from General Washington himself, andthis----"

  "I tell you it is not true," reiterated the boy fiercely. "Look howthey've always treated him! It's another one of their vile chargestrumped up against him. Daniel Morgan, you were with him at Quebec andSaratoga! Are you going to stand there and hear such calumny?"

  Morgan hid his face in his hands and a sob broke from his lips. Thesound seemed to pierce Drayton like a sword thrust. His arm dropped tohis side, and he turned from one to another searching their faceseagerly, but their sorrowful countenances only spoke confirmation of thenews.

  "In mercy, speak," he cried with a catch in his voice. "Peggy, tell metruth! Speak to me!"

  "John, John, I'm afraid 'tis true," cried Peggy going to him withoutstretched hands. "Don't take it like this! Thee must be brave."

  But with a cry, so full of anguish, of heartbreak, that they paled asthey heard it, Drayton sank to the floor.

  "Boy, I loved him too," spoke Colonel Morgan brokenly. "We were bothwith him on that march to Quebec. And at Saratoga in that mad charge hemade. I loved him----"

  He could not proceed. Bending over the prostrate lad he lifted him, andwith his arm about him drew him from the room. Peggy broke into apassion of tears as Drayton's wailing cry came back to her:

  "My general! My general! My general!"