Lucy Foster Madison

“Like bloodhounds now they search me out,—
Hark, to the whistle and the shout!
If farther through the wilds I go,
I only fall upon the foe;
I’ll couch me here till evening gray,
Then darkling try my dangerous way.”

—Sir Walter Scott.

Sukey was standing before the entrance valiantly trying to keep the half dozen men who stood in the hall from entering. She turned toward her master with relief.

“Dese men dey sayin’ dat dere’s a Bristisher ’roun’ heah,” she explained. “Dey would come in. I dun my bes’ ter keep dem from ’sturbin’ yer.”

“That is all right, Sukey,” he said kindly. “Perhaps these friends have good reason for coming.”

“That we have, Mr. Owen,” cried one stepping forward. “I am William Will, Sheriff of the city and county of Philadelphia. With me is Mr. Ledie, Commissioner of Prisoners. We are on the track of some prisoners who have escaped from Lancaster. One hath been traced to this house. We have reason to believe that he is in hiding somewhere about the premises. I am sorry to disturb you, sir, but ’tis my duty to make a thorough search of the dwelling.”

“Thou art quite welcome to make the search, Friend Will,” returned Mr. Owen courteously. “I think thee will find thyself mistaken about any one being in hiding here unless he hath concealed himself in the barn. I have neither seen nor heard anything of any one.”

“Then with your permission we will begin right away,” said the sheriff. “Do two of you take the barns and outbuildings; two others the gardens and orchard, while Mr. Ledie and I will make a thorough investigation of the house. We will begin with this room, Mr. Ledie,” he continued stepping inside the sitting-room. “Your pardon, ladies. Knowing that every well affected inhabitant of the county will cheerfully assist in the apprehension of an escaped prisoner my presence, I trust, will be excused. These seem to be good American citizens, Mr. Owen,” with a keen glance about that embraced every member of the company. “Your wife and daughter I know by sight, and these two young ladies also. This gentleman’s uniform speaks for itself, and this young man is without doubt an American.”

“Yes; he hath served with the militia in Virginia against the enemy, and hath recently obtained a captain’s commission in the regular troops of New Jersey,” explained David Owen. “He is Captain Johnson, who with his mother will stop with us until after the storm hath passed.”

“I see,” remarked the sheriff, passing into the dining-room. “Everything seems to be all right in these two rooms, Mr. Ledie. Now,” addressing the company collectively, “there is one thing more: Does each one of you affirm that you have not seen any one who might be an escaped prisoner?”

Peggy’s heart beat so wildly at this that she feared it could be heard. She had risen at the sheriff’s entrance, and stood with pale face waiting the discovery that she was afraid was imminent. She said nothing as the sheriff asked his question. The others had spoken quickly disclaiming any knowledge of such person, and she hoped the fact that she had made no reply would escape notice. To her relief Sally spoke up:

“Will thee let us see him if thee finds him, Friend Will? Especially if he be good looking.”

“Oh, yes, Friend Will,” broke in Betty. “Do let us have a look at him if thee catches him.”

“Now, now,” protested the officer, “I’m not going to grant any indulgences to further an Englishman’s enjoyment. I know your sex, Miss Sally. If the fellow is good looking I’ll have all of you girls on my back to let him off. And the temper of the people won’t permit such things at present. Well, there is nothing to be gained here. We will take the up-stairs now.”

“I think I shall accompany you,” spoke Mr. Owen. “I like not to think of any prowlers about. I wonder where he escaped from, and if there is but one?”

“Suppose we go too,” said Robert Dale, addressing Fairfax. “We might be of assistance to the sheriff.”

The three left the room, and the women and the girls drew close together while overhead, in every room, and without in the barn and other buildings the search was prosecuted. Nurse Johnson shivered as the sounds of the hunt came to them.

“A man hunt is always such a dreadful thing,” she remarked. “And whether it be for a slave or an enemy, I find my sympathy going with the hunted. I hope they won’t find this poor fellow. Yet I have no love for the English.”

“Thee is like the rest of us,” replied Mistress Owen. “A good hater of the enemy in the aggregate, but a commiserator of one who happens to be in a plight. Peggy, how restless thee is!”

“I am, mother,” answered Peggy rising, and going to the window. “This hath upset me.”

“It is in truth a most unpleasant ending to an otherwise pleasant day,” commented her mother.

Peggy made no further remark, but wandered restlessly about, finally going into the dining-room. She was filled with apprehension lest at any moment Clifford’s hiding-place should be discovered. He must not stay, she reflected. It was no longer safe to conceal him anywhere on the premises. But where could he go? At this point in her musings she felt an arm slip about her waist, and turned to find Sally Evans beside her.

“And who is it, Peggy?” whispered Sally. “I know that ’tis some one thee knows, else thee would not have helped him.”

“Oh, Sally! how did thee know that ’twas I who helped any one?” asked Peggy alarmed. “Did I show it so plainly? Does thee think the sheriff could tell that I knew aught?”

“Nay,” Sally whispered back. “I knew because I know thee so well. Thee remembers I thought I heard thee talking with some one in the kitchen. Who is it?”

“Clifford,” whispered Peggy.

“Harriet’s brother?” asked Sally, after a little gasp of surprise.

“Yes; he hath escaped from Lancaster, and is trying to get to New York. I could not do otherwise than help him, Sally. He would not have come here had not the storm rendered traveling difficult. But father must not know. ’Twould go hard with him were it known that he assisted Clifford, if he should assist him. He might not do it. Thee knows how he feels about such things. He might deem it right to give Clifford up even though he be our cousin. I want father to do right, Sally, but I don’t want Clifford given up, either.”

“Why, of course thee doesn’t,” answered Sally briskly. “And of course, Peggy, ’tis quite right for thy father to feel as he does. I dare say Robert and Fairfax feel the same toward any who is an enemy to the country. ’Tis right for them, but we females are made of softer stuff. Don’t worry, but let thy cousin go home with me. Mother and I will be glad to conceal him until the weather permits him to continue his journey.”

“Oh, Sally! does thee mean that?” cried Peggy breathlessly.

“I do, Peggy. Thee would be surprised to know how many of the British we have helped during the war. As a whole I dislike them intensely,” and Sally drew her lips together vindictively. “When there is a battle I rejoice when we defeat them; but when any of them are in trouble, or danger, I never can think of them only as mothers’ sons, and so, and so——”

Peggy leaned forward and kissed her.

“I think thee is the dearest girl in the world, Sally Evans,” she said. “Does thee remember that there is a penalty for harboring escaping prisoners?”

“Well, yes; but friendship would not be worth much if it were not willing to incur some risk,” answered her friend sagely. “Where is he?”

“In the chamber above the kitchen, Sally. Let’s go out there. I am consumed with anxiety lest he be discovered.”

The sheriff, followed by his associate Mr. Ledie, David Owen, Robert and Fairfax, having made the rounds of the house came into the entry way just as Sally and Peggy entered it. The men who had been detailed to make the search of the outbuildings and grounds joined them a few moments later.

“He stood just here,” observed the sheriff indicating the place behind the door. “You can see his tracks. What puzzles me is the fact that there are no further traces. He did not go away, as there are no tracks leading away from this place. Neither are there any inside, and the sand on the kitchen floor hath not been disturbed save by the darkey.”

“Hast thou searched the wash-house and the servants’ quarters?” queried Mr. Owen anxiously. “They are all in this building.”

“We have looked through it thoroughly,” declared the sheriff emphatically. “And the barn, and all other buildings. ’Tis most mysterious. He hath disappeared as unaccountably as though whisked out of sight on a witch’s broom. Well, boys, scatter about the grounds again, and see if you can’t find some trace. Some one in the house hath aided in the escape,” he said, turning again to Mr. Owen as the men obeyed his order.

“I do not see who could have done so,” returned David Owen with a troubled look. “There is not one of the household who is not a consistent Whig, and there hath been no opportunity for anything of the sort. When we have not been together in the sitting-room we have been at the table. The girls washed the dishes in the dining-room, but joined us immediately afterward. From the laughter that accompanied the act I would be willing to wager that no British prisoner had any share in it.”

Peggy did not see the quick glance that passed between Robert Dale and Fairfax Johnson. She had been absent from the room fully a half hour longer than the other girls, but evidently her father had not noticed the fact. Fairfax Johnson spoke abruptly:

“Suppose we take a look about the grounds, Major Dale.”

“Your pardon, gentlemen,” interposed Sheriff Will. “I cannot allow you to go unless one of my men accompanies you. You see all of you are more or less under suspicion until the matter is cleared up, and I prefer that you remain in sight.”

“Just as you say, sir,” replied the youth quickly. “I thought only to be of service.”

“I see not where the fellow could have gone,” mused David Owen, whose distress was evident. “Would that he might be found, if only to release us from suspicion.”

“Well, have you found anything?” demanded the sheriff as his men reËntered the dwelling. “Come into the kitchen, boys. It grows cold.”

“And dark, Mr. Will,” announced one of the men. “Too dark to see much. We shall have to give up for the night.”

“I fear so,” answered the sheriff grumblingly. His manner showed that he was far from satisfied with the result of the search. The house had been gone through thoroughly, and every place that could afford a possible hiding-place ransacked. David Owen and the two youths were of the army. The family was noted for its patriotism, and had offered no objection to the search, yet he showed that he was reluctant to give up. He stood meditatively before the fire, his hands clasped behind him, his glance roving about the room. Suddenly he started forward, and an excited “Ah!” escaped him.

Peggy turned pale, for his eye was resting upon the trap-door. Her father’s glance followed the sheriff’s.

“If any went through that door, Friend Will,” he said casually, “’twas one who is much younger than either of us. In truth, none but a slender youth could draw himself through that door.”

“True,” answered the officer gazing at the door thoughtfully. “True, Mr. Owen, yet am I minded to explore it. I like not to leave any place unsearched. It may be that our man is young, and that that is the very place where he lies concealed. Is there a ladder?”

“There was one, but ’tis at the carpenter’s shop to be mended,” answered Mr. Owen. He looked vaguely about the kitchen. “I see not how thee is to get up,” he said.

“I think I could get up there.” Fairfax Johnson sprang lightly upon the table as he spoke. “Will some one hand me a chair?”

“That’s the idea,” cried the sheriff approvingly. “Still, young man, before you undertake this you must understand that there is risk attending it. You will be completely at the mercy of any one who happens to be up there. You understand that, don’t you?”

“Well, some one must go,” replied Fairfax. “One of your men would take the risk in case I don’t. Won’t he?”

“Yes; but—— Well, go on.” A chair was passed up to him, and the youth mounting it pushed the trap-door back slowly.

Peggy’s hand involuntarily went to her heart, and she trembled so that she could scarcely stand. The watchers grew very still as Fairfax Johnson stood for a moment before swinging himself up through the opening. Sally gave a little gasp as he disappeared into the darkness.

“What if—if he should shoot?” she murmured unconsciously speaking aloud.

“’Tis what I’m afraid of,” answered Sheriff Will. “What is it?” he cried, springing upon the table and mounting the chair in a vain effort to see what was taking place in the attic. “Have you found him?” For an unmistakable chuckle came from overhead. It sounded to Peggy as though it were her cousin’s voice. She told herself that she was mistaken, however, when Fairfax Johnson appeared at the opening.

“It’s a rug,” he called, a broad smile illuminating his countenance. “When I stumbled over it I thought it was a bear. I suppose Miss Peggy hath put it up here anent her housekeeping time. Shall I throw it down?”

“No,” answered Sheriff Will, in disgusted tones. “If that’s all there is up there you might as well come down. We are not hunting articles to set Miss Peggy up.”

“If any of the rest of you wish to come up I think I could help draw him up.” The youth leaned over the side of the opening suggestively.

“No, no,” interposed Mr. Ledie, commissioner of prisoners. “The fellow is evidently not up there, and there is no use wasting time. He must be somewhere else about the premises, or else we have overlooked his tracks.”

“I don’t see how we could,” declared the sheriff. “Anyhow, ’tis getting too dark to do any more to-night. You seem to have found some cobwebs, if you did not find a prisoner, my friend,” he said as Fairfax Johnson swung himself down to the table. “I suppose that we must wish you good-night, Mr. Owen. We may drop in to-morrow.”

“Nay, gentlemen, go not so,” spoke Mr. Owen. “Come, refresh yourselves, I pray you. You will take supper with us after so hard a search. It will not be long before ’tis ready, and ’tis o’er cold to go forth without something warming. Lass, canst thou not help Sukey to get it quickly?”

“Yes, father,” answered Peggy. She was quite herself by this time, but filled with amazement at Fairfax. What a queer compound he was, she thought, glancing over to where the youth stood. He was blushing as Sally helped him to remove the cobwebs from his clothing, and seemed unable to answer the chaff with which she and Robert were plying him. Yet but a short time since he had made that little joke concerning the fur rug and her housekeeping. Had he really seen Clifford?

“Let all of us young people help,” cried Betty gayly coming into the kitchen as Mr. Owen with the sheriff and his men left it.

“Thy help must be confined to the dining-room, Betty,” answered Peggy. “Thee must not be out here in that gown.”

“Then I will set the table,” said Betty. “My, my! what a party we’re having.”

“And we will help too, Peggy,” spoke Robert Dale. “Have you nothing that two great fellows like the captain and myself can do?”

“Plenty, plenty,” laughed Peggy. “Thee may slice the roast beef, Robert, while Friend Fairfax may take the ham. Sally and I will attend to the bread and cake. Sukey, will thee need more wood?”

“No’m,” grumbled Sukey. “I shouldn’t t’ink yer pa’d want ter feed dem folkes aftah de way dey done pried ’roun’ inter ebberyt’ing.”

“Well, it is annoying, of course, Sukey, but after all they were but doing their duty,” answered Peggy slowly.

“Yes’m,” said the black giving her young mistress a sharp look, then turning she busied herself about the fire.

Each one was attending strictly to the task before him, and resolving to embrace the opportunity to talk a few moments with Fairfax Johnson, Peggy took the loaf of bread she was cutting over to the table where the youth was slicing ham.